


Polarity

by SabbyWrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety, Bad Decisions, Bad Parenting, DFAB reader, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Foul/Dirty Language, General tomfoolery, Gradual Progression of Feelings, Implied Sexual Content, Love/Hate, Mental Health Issues, Mild OMC/OFC, Minor Injuries, Minor Tendou/OFC, Misunderstandings, Opposites Attract, Reader Can Be A Dick, References to Sex, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sexual Tension, Shitty Friends, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Strong Platonic Friendships, Texting/Social Media Communication, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Crush, When I Say Slow Burn I Mean SLOW
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyWrites/pseuds/SabbyWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Or, alternately, 'The Fic in Which You Discover that Ushijima Isn't Such a Jerk After All')</p><p>He was a mega-confident athlete. You were a too-sleepy-for-your-own-good genius. There was no reason that you two should cross paths, but his eagle-eyed manager and self-proclaimed 'best friend' thinks otherwise. </p><p>Moral of the story? </p><p>You should have just gone to Karasuno.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which You're Bribed

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! Here's another (and MUCH more lighthearted) story that I've been working on. Haikyuu is hands-down my favorite anime/manga at the moment, and if you haven't done so, you should look into it!
> 
> In this story I've decided to use my own original character for the series, Emiko. (Those of you who know me on Lunaescence know I love that name. Sue me.) I thought that using her would make it easier for the reader to get tangled up in Ushijima's life! >:)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this series and the antics that I'm planning on employing in it. Like I said, it's going to be much more lighthearted than Dark Waters. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! xoxo, Sabby

“[Name].”

“…”

“[Name].”

“…”

Emiko Hashimoto frowns, the movement punctuated by the loud _crack_ of her bubblegum popping against her lips. Had you been a light sleeper, the sound would have instantly awoken you. Your classmate inches closer to you, standing in her seat to look over at your face, which lies flat against your desk. A fine line of drool slowly descends from the corner of your open lips towards the polished gray veneer below. 

“Are you kidding me? This is the same bullshit you got detention for…” She mutters to nobody in particular, her short and bitten twitching against the pages of this week’s _Shōnen Jump_. With a bitter sigh she rolls the magazine up tight, only to bring it down on the back of your head with a single determined swing. 

You yelp immediately, jolting in your seat and nearly falling out of your chair. Satisfied, Emiko sits down and unrolls her precious reading material. 

“Anyways, _as I was saying before you rudely fell asleep on me_ , I think you should start coming to practices with me.” She pauses to blow another bubble, permeating the air around her with the sickly-sweet scent of artificial strawberries. 

“I don’t see why you had to wake me up to tell me that. You literally tell me every day.” You groan, rubbing the back of your head and running the back of your wrist against your mouth. You wince at the feeling of lukewarm spittle and wipe the offending moisture on your uniform skirt. 

She rewards your groggy response with a ‘hmph!’ and the turn of a page, her coffee-colored eyes scanning the manga panels with renewed interest. After a pregnant pause, she turns her gaze back towards you. 

“Because Toshi-chan has— and it pains me to say this, it really does— been _off_ these past few weeks. And I, being his manager and closest confidant, think that your presence would really boost his morale!”

Your eyebrow twitches at her dramatic soliloquy, wondering if she’d practiced it in the bathroom beforehand. While you appreciated her dedication to her “best friend” and the volleyball team that she obviously so dearly loved, you were growing tired of her acting like being childhood friends with the most boring person you’d ever met was some sort of crowning achievement. 

“I said it once and I’ll say it again, Hashimoto-san. Stop acting like the fate of the world depends on me hanging out with you. It’s creepy as hell. I’ve barely spoken to _or_ your team, for that matter.” You cast your eyes toward the clock, surprised at how long you’d been sleeping. Emiko must have been talking for a while before she noticed that you’d dozed off. There are only a handful of minutes left of detention. 

“But I’m his _manager_ , [Name]-chan!”

“Stop calling me that. It’s [Surname]-san. And besides, you’re a pretty shitty manager, since you got detention and had to skip practice.”

“Well…” The second-year looks a bit sheepish at your retort, and the familiar feeling of bemusement starts to creep up your spine. 

“Hashimoto-san.”

“…Yes?”

“Did you actually get detention, or did you just come here to bug me?”

“I mean… I only did it because I think your presence will really help! Please forgive me!” She wails, clasping her hands together and bowing in her seat towards you. Her magazine flutters to the ground. You sigh. 

“God, you’re annoying. I don’t know how that team can stand you.”

“Well, they’re all very open and friendly! Except Toshi-chan, maybe, he’s a little—”

“Boring and cocky as hell, yeah, I know. You’re not making this sound appealing at all.” You glance over at the clock again and, seeing that detention was now over, grab your bag and stand. 

“Wait!” Emiko is on her feet in a flash, eyes large and worried. You give her your best ‘bored-to-death’ expression, already daydreaming about the luxurious nap you’d be able to take when you get home. Maybe you’ll even have the energy to heat up last night’s leftovers. 

“Look, Hashimoto, I said I wasn’t—”

“What if I buy you meat buns every day for a week?”

You freeze, mouth immediately watering at the thought of your favorite after-school snack. How the hell had she known? She must be as observant as the rumors say after all. 

“Three weeks.”

“One and a half!” 

“Two.”

“Deal!” She grabs your wrist and hauls you out of the room, her gray skirt billowing around the thick expanse of her thighs. You scowl but allowed her to steer you out of the school, only getting a chance to catch your breath when she suddenly stops and turns to you with a panicked expression. 

“Gwah! I left my _Shōnen Jump_ in the classroom!”

You don’t know it then, but as you watch your classmate sprint back for her beloved magazine, your fate becomes irreversibly tangled with that of one Ushijima Wakatoshi.


	2. In Which You Eat Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO GUYS. I know some (if not all) of you are waiting for an update to DW, which of course if coming within the next few days. However, I thought I'd write some more for this lil project, because since this story is going to mostly be comprised of shorter chapters and has less of a strict plot, and sometimes you can't just focus all of your time on stalkers, ya feel me? Of course you do. 
> 
> (Also, gentle reminder that I've started a tumblr, the URL of which is in my bio. Or, you can just look up SabbyWrites. It's the fastest way to contact me). 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this (maybe confusing?) chapter!
> 
> xoxo Sabby

For some reason unbeknownst to you, Emiko had gotten it in her head that the little deal you made with her yesterday included her pestering you at lunch. 

“Yo.” Was all she’d said, plopping down next to you under your favorite magnolia tree on campus, her bento in her lap before you could even protest. You glare at her, chewing your rice a bit more viciously than you had been moments prior. 

“I don’t remember inviting you to sit with me at lunch.” You say once you’ve swallowed. Your classmate shrugs, pulling her chopsticks out from behind her ears (how unsanitary, ugh) and unwrapping the cloth she had tied around her box. 

“You didn’t have to. I can see you sitting alone out here from my classroom window. Kinda lame, if you ask me. If you’re gonna be a loner, at least be inside while you’re doing it.”

“Please, show me where I asked for your opinion.” You don’t bother to look at what you know will be a smug expression. Instead, you grab another clump of rice and resume chewing. “Besides, shouldn’t you be eating with that guy you find so exciting?”

You heard Emiko snicker, and the surprise almost makes you look up from the blades of grass you’d been intently studying. “Toshi-chan? [Surname]-san, you should know by now that the third years always eat lunch separately from us!” She sounded like she wanted to jostle you playfully on the shoulder. To her credit, however, she refrains from touching you. 

“Yeah, well you seem so enamored with him—”

“Yuck! Don’t even say something like that!” She wails. You almost chuckle, but manage to keep your face impassive. No need to encourage her. “Besides, I eat with someone else instead. In fact, I wonder were he is. I told him to meet me out here…”

You scoff, any semblance of a decent mood evaporating with each word she speaks. Is it seriously so hard for her to tell that you want to be alone? I mean, that’s why you came out here in the first place! Everyone in your grade must have grossly overestimated her observational skills if she couldn’t pick up on that simple fact. You mull over whether or not to say so to her face when the sound of the door clicking shut startles you. 

It’s that guy. At least, you think it is; unless Emiko had invited more people to sit with you against your will. Brown hair that’s neatly parted and a pair of thin lips pressed into a serious line— you can recall the face, but not the name. Thankfully, Emiko supplies it for you. 

“Kenjirō!” She chirps, waving him over even though you two are the only ones in the immediate vicinity. He blinks slowly, his eyes flickering between the pair of you— you, with a sour expression and barely-eaten food, and his manager, with her bright eyes and a few grains of rice stuck to her lips. Then, he sighs. 

“Hello, Hashimoto-chan.” He says, sitting down— thankfully across from you and not at your side. “You must be [Surname]-san. She said we could eat with you today.”

One part of you immediately flares up with indignation at the fact that she hadn’t even asked your permission, but another part of you notices immediately that Emiko’s full attention is no longer on you with one of the boys now in her sight. She smiles sweetly at the both of you, then resumes picking at her bento. You sigh— in defeat or annoyance, you aren’t quite sure— and bow your head. 

“Yes. It’s nice to meet you, uh…?”

“Shirabu Kenjirō.”

He unties his bento, which suspiciously enough is wrapped in the same sort of cloth that Emiko’s is, and starts picking at some snow peas. 

You eat in relative silence after that, only exclaiming loudly once towards the end of the period because Emiko started sputtering and coughing. Shirabu reaches out and gives her a good smack on the back, which seems to work instantly. 

“Please chew your food before swallowing it.” Is all he says, as if they’ve had this discussion thousands of times before. “Ushijima-senpai would kill me in cold blood if I let you die.”

“T-that’s the only reason you saved me? I thought we were friends, Kenjirō!” She whines, mock-hurt. He rolls his eyes in tandem with the ringing bell, then stands up and dusts off his slacks. After a moment of careful consideration, he holds out a hand to help you up, which you graciously take. 

“Thank you.” You say softly, worried that if you got any louder it would somehow make Emiko revert back to her more jubilant self. 

She does, regardless. 

“That was fun, [Surname]-san! Can we do it again tomorrow?”

“Hashimoto-chan, none of us really talked.” Shirabu, who you were beginning to like because he wasn’t annoying as hell, comments before you can. “It was mostly just us hearing you chew. I wouldn’t call that ‘fun’.”

“Well!” She slips her now-empty bento back into her bag, then places her hands on her hips. “I just like being around her is all! That’s fun enough for me!”

“What, do you have a crush? I’m sure Tendō-senpai won’t be pleased to hear that.”

“Ugh!” Emiko elbows him in the side, though his face remains neutral. “Stop assuming that Tendō and I are together!”

You hum quietly, watching them bicker amongst themselves. Then, gathering a little bit of courage— and preparing yourself for the onslaught of chatter that was sure to follow— you tap Emiko on the shoulder. “Are you still making me come to practice tonight?”

“Ah, of course!” She nods vigorously, then turns to Shirabu with a sheepish smile. He, in turn, looks a little bemused at your words. “Kenjirō, can you tell Toshi-chan that I’m going to be late tonight? I promised [Surname]-san that I would buy her a meat bun if she came to practice, and I didn’t want to make her wait until after practice just in case she got too hungry or something, and—“

Shirabu waves his hand, and you get the distinct feeling that he cuts her off quite often. “I’ll tell him, Hashimoto-chan, but no promises that he won’t be annoyed with you.”

“Thank you!” She says, patting him on the back, which only serves to make his expression a little more uncomfortable. “I’ll buy one for you, too!” 

“No, thank you. Just try to get to practice as soon as you can.” You follow them through the door, where the rest of the students who’d traveled elsewhere for lunch are trickling back in. Only when you get back to your classroom does Shirabu seem to lose some of his impassive disposition. 

“Class Seven?” He asks, a bit incredulous. You blink at him, shrugging. This isn’t the first time someone has acted shocked at how advanced you are, but it _is_ the first time that that shock settles into suspicion. His grey eyes narrow at you first, then travel slowly to Emiko, who suddenly looks like a child who’s been caught stealing sweets from the kitchen. She snatches Shirabu’s sleeve in her hand before he can say anything, tugging him towards class four. Her tight and sheepish smile remains on her face the entire time. 

“Well, [Surname]-san, I’ll see you after school! Bye!” She says, a little too loudly even for her. Shirabu, who still looks suspicious as hell and a little annoyed that she’s wrinkling his shirt, remains silent. However, you can tell by the look in his eyes that he wants to say something.

You stand outside your room, a little dumbstruck, until the final lunch bell rings. Even when your teacher comes back and starts your calculus lesson, you find it harder to focus than usual, the distinct feeling of missing something important settling into your stomach.


	3. In Which You (Inadvertently) Start A Pissing Contest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I know I promised an update to DW a few days ago, but I just watched the season 2 finale of HQ and honestly seeing Ushijima again made me want to write. 
> 
> A few things I want to point out about this chapter- One, don't mistake Ushijima's determination as a crush. He seems like the type of guy to see a spectator's boredom as a challenge, so that's where I meant to go with it, hence the title of this chapter. It's not gonna come as a surprise to many of you that Rea-tan and Wakkun will be trying to outdo the other. 
> 
> Second, I know many of you might not like the fact that this chapter changes from your POV to Ushijima's, but it's something that will be happening a lot in this fic. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Also, if you have any questions or comments and want an almost-immediate response, talk to me over at my tumblr: 
> 
> http://sabbywrites.tumblr.com
> 
> xoxo, sabby

You’ve never liked the squeaking of shoes on the gymnasium floor, but you’re willing to put up with it for the steaming meat bun that currently rests in your hands.

“You see, here’s the problem.” Emiko pipes up from beside you, her rambling only slightly muffled by the wad of sour bubblegum she’s viciously chewing. “The speed of Toshi-chan’s kill has gone down from 96.5 kilometers per hour to approximately 91.7.”

“His ‘kill’?” You say, obviously disinterested as you cram more of the savory treat into your mouth. Emiko shoots you a look that’s halfway between exasperated and disappointed, clearly disheartened by your lack of interest in the subject at hand. 

“The speed of his spike. A loss of five kilometers per hour might not seem like much, but it can mean all the world to someone trying to receive it; especially to Karasuno. Their Libero is one of the best I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“Uh-huh.” You reply, trying and failing to seem more immersed in what she’s telling you. You let your eyes linger on Ushijima himself, who had glared at you when you arrived late to the practice but has otherwise been silent. Instead, he’d gone back to his three-on-three game while Emiko and yourself had settled on one of the benches. 

She sighs, suddenly looking uncharacteristically worn-out and serious. “You don’t know a single thing about volleyball, do you?”

“No.” You finish off the last of the meat bun, trying hard not to feel guilty at her tone. The last thing you need is to develop a soft spot for Emiko, lest she take it as permission to sit with you at lunch again. You don’t think you have enough painkillers in your apartment to rid you of that headache.

“Okay. Well, we can start slow, if you’d like. It’ll be good to know the basics, just so you don’t get bored out of your mind while you’re here.”

“Uh, sure. I guess.” You say, refraining from mentioning that it’s was a little late to keep you from getting bored. 

“First of all, there’s they setter. They’re in charge of setting up offense— getting the ball in the air so that it can be hit over to the other side. Kenjirō is our starting one, but there’s also Eita-senpai, and he’s pretty good too. Then we have our libero, Yamagata— you might be able to get away with calling him Hayato, he’s pretty laid back— and he heads our defense. The libero can replace the setter, but only in specific situations. Then there’s the middle blockers… their job is in the title. Tendō and Kawanishi make sure to deflect spikes and the likes. And then, there’s the wing spikers— ”

“Which is the rest of them. I get it.” You cut her off. Emiko tuts a little at you, but you hardly feel guilty about it.

“You think you do, but there’s so much more to volleyball.” She reminds you. You shrug. 

“Sure there is.”

~*~

If looks could kill, Ushijima Wakatoshi could have murdered the entire Miyagi prefecture by now with the amount of time he’s spent glaring over at the sidelines.

He feels the familiar sensation of a volleyball slamming against his palm, the weight of it absolutely enthralling until it ricochets off of him and spins towards the floor. His feet hit the ground at the same time it does, the twin sounds magnified by each other.

“Oi, Wakkun, that one was a little close to the line, don’t you think?” Tendō, ever the smartass, shoots him that all-too-familiar grin, his red eyes wide and excited. “Better make sure you get that in check before the spring!”

“Hm.” Ushijima allows himself to grunt, but bites his tongue to keep from responding. He’d been less concerned when Emiko had noticed his spikes were off— after all, the girl lived and breathed volleyball, so of course he expected her to see the difference— but he could see it in the concerned look that Semi and Shirabu were sharing that the entire team has begun to pick up on it. The thought makes his blood almost run cold. 

He only realizes that coach Washijō had whistled for a break moments prior when he feels Tendō give him a firm slap on the back, but even then he can’t find it in himself to move. There’s something in his veins, something telling him that he needs to buckle down and get more practice in if he wants to correct all his mistakes, because god knows that any misstep during the next few weeks could cost them their winning streak, and—

“There’s a cute girl looking at you.” Tendō said, eyes glittering the way that they often do when they pass a group of girls on the street. “Really cute. Over by Emiko.”

Of course. He’d nearly forgotten about you; he’s been so wrapped up in practice that the memory of you coming into the gym, trailing behind Emiko like a lost puppy, had faded from his mind. He knows who you are, of course— almost every boy who goes to Shiratorizawa gets a little nervous at the mention of your name— but your reasoning behind being here at practice a mystery to him. 

However, if the sheepish look on Emiko’s face is anything to go by, it can’t be for any sane reason. 

“Uh… Hi.” She says when he finally walks over to her, the tips of her ears a soft pink that completely betray the light tone she’s using. “You guys are doing great so far. Toshi-chan, there’s a few things that—”

“I know.” He says, and although his tone is rough, he’s was still gentle when he takes the water bottle she offers him. 

“I see.” She inclines her head, but that worried look remains in her eyes. Then, seemingly unable to bear only addressing him, she turns to the rest of the team. 

“All right everyone, what did you have for lunch?”

While each member rattles off their answer (“Melon Pan.” “Are you kidding? You need more protein, Eita-senpai!”), Ushijima takes the time to watch you. You’re still seated at the bench, hands folded in your lap and a bored expression on your face. He could have sworn you were barely breathing; you seem stoic to the core, face barely even moving when Emiko starts wailing about how they’re all going to get scurvy from a lack of vitamins. 

“Emiko-chan.” He says, secretly delighted when a brief flicker of astonishment crosses your face at the sound of his voice. “Don’t get so worked up. We’re performing fine as usual.” 

He can clearly see that his reassurance doesn’t work, and that he’ll be paying for it later with a lecture on the walk back to their dorms, but none of that seems to matter in that moment. He knows he’s not at the top of his game. He knows they still have work to do if they want to win every match from here on out. He knows the dynamics of his team still need some fine-tuning. They’re all things he was planning on fixing, regardless of whether or not you’re around. But the second he thinks of seeing you look astonished again, he’s suddenly filled with determination unlike anything else he’s experienced. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Emiko smirk. 

“If you say so.” Is all she says.


	4. In Which You're Secretive About Your Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! How are you all? I'm good, thanks for asking ;)
> 
> I'm sure a few (if not most) of you will already know who stingy-chan is. I'm not trying to keep it a huge secret, but I did plan on not revealing their identity for another few chapters. 
> 
> Also, the tidbit about weight loss and running is 100% true. I think. I learned it in class last semester. 
> 
> (ALSO SOME SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: Visit me at my tumblr, sabbywrites.tumblr.com , to get updates on my fics, ask me random questions, or just talk about your day!)
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> xoxo sabby

**Stingy-Chan (12:16):** Hey

**[Name] (12:16):** Hey yourself. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?

**Stingy-Chan (12:17):** aren’t you

**[Name] (12:17):** Lunch. Don’t tell me you’re hiding out in the bathroom again. 

**Stingy-Chan (12:17):** got bored, figured you’d be the only one who would text back 

**[Name] (12:17):** Nice. Not exactly model student behavior.

**Stingy-Chan (12:18):** Says the person who fell asleep in class every day in middle school. 

**[Name] (12:18):** Not anymore!

**Stingy-Chan (12:18):** i’m sure

You scowl, taking a rather vicious bite into your carrot. 

**[Name] (12:19):** You’re lucky I’m even texting you back. We’re supposed to be rivals now, remember?

**Stingy-Chan (12:19):** yeah yeah. different schools and all that. even though you live closer to Karasuno than Shiratorizawa

**[Name] (12:20):** You’re just upset that I’m not there with you. You missssssssss meeeeeee.

**Stingy-Chan (12:20):** in your dreams, [Name]. lunch bell just rang, i’ll talk to you after school I guess

**[Name] (12:20):** Sure. I have to go to some stupid practice thing though. 

**Stingy-Chan (12:21):** you finally get a hobby that isn’t bothering me?

**[Name] (12:21):** You’re the one who texted me first, dumbass.

“Oooooooh, [Surname]-san has her phone out!” Emiko plops down across from you right on cue, her bento and chopsticks already in her lap before you can fully look up at her. You shrug, snapping your phone shut and slipping it into the side pocket of your bag. Shirabu, who looks significantly more disinterested than Emiko, settles down beside her. “Such a troublemaker!”

“Hashimoto-chan, do I need to remind you that you get your phone confiscated every week for getting caught texting Ushijima-senpai in class?”

Emiko clamps her mouth shut, brown eyes full of betrayal; Shirabu turns to you, head bowed in an apology for her behavior. You shrug in response. 

“How are you two today?” You ask, somewhat resigned to the fact that you’re stuck with the two of them until Emiko’s interest in you fades. Emiko looks beside herself at your question, while Shirabu pauses in unwrapping his lunch to give you a thoughtful look. 

“I’m good today. Got a perfect score on my English exam.” He replies, grabbing a clump of rice with his chopsticks. 

“Good job.” You say. Your tone is flat, but your sentiment is as least partially sincere; you don’t have as much of a grudge against the setter for invading your privacy, and so your replies to him aren’t as limited. 

“That’s because you have such a good tutor, Kenjirō!” Emiko looks at you, apparently desiring some of your praise as well. “I’m fluent in English!”

“I’m sure.” You say, a bit distracted due to the buzzing from inside your bag. You miss the crestfallen look that crosses Emiko’s face at your dismissal, opting instead to grab your phone again and flip it open. 

**Stingy-Chan (12:30):** whatever. come visit soon

“Who is that? Your boyfriend?” Emiko chimes in, apparently more determined than ever to engage you in conversation. She immediately realizes her mistake, however, when you shoot her a disgusted look. 

“Not even close. Just my friend from junior high.”

“Oh! Where did you go?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” You grab a piece of lettuce from your lunch and began chewing on it in order to prevent her from asking any more questions. It works; she leans back on her palms with the most dejected face you’ve ever seen, though it’s slightly overshadowed by the fact that Shirabu is now desperately trying to hold in laughter. 

“Okay, well—”

“Please, no more questions.”

You almost feel guilty at how absolutely saddened she looks, but you manage to push it down with a hard swallow of your food. Now isn’t the time to be making more connections to people, you have to remind your traitorous heart. It was hard enough to leave Stingy-chan behind when you decided to go to Shiratorizawa, and you cringe to think about how hard it will be if you make friends now that you have to leave behind when it’s time to go to university. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to type out a reply. 

**[Name] (12:35):** Thought you said you would text me after school? But sure, I should be free this weekend. Does Saturday afternoon work?

**Stingy-chan (12:35):** yeah, should be fine

You swat at Emiko’s face when you realize that she’s was leaning forward in an attempt to see your screen. “Nosy! Why are you so nosy?!”

“I can’t help it!” She cries, holding her cheeks in her hands in an attempt to look cute. It somewhat works, but not enough for your flare-up of irritation to subside. 

“Yes you can. You willingly let Tendō-senpai have some privacy when he was dating that one girl, remember?” Shirabu cuts in.

“That was different!”

“Was not.”

“Was too!”

You sigh, picking at the rest of your food while the two bicker, wondering if you should have gone to Karasuno after all. 

~*~

“Alright, guys, what did you eat for lunch today?”

“Melon pan.”

“Eita-senpai!” Emiko looks like she wants to hit the setter over the head with her clipboard. “You can’t just eat melon pan for lunch every day! Do I have to make your lunch _and_ Kenjirō’s lunch now?”

The tall redhead— you think his name is Tendō?— starts to pout, expression visible even though he’s at the back of the group of gathered players. “Emi-chan, you never pack _me_ lunch!”

“That’s because you eat enough to feed a small army! My wallet can’t take having to buy groceries for you!” Emiko grumbles. 

You remain silent and stone-faced, eating the rest of your meat bun as Emiko lectures the players around her. You wonder why the coach isn’t doing so— after all, he was much more terrifying, and you’re sure they tend to listen to him— but then again, Emiko _is_ cute in her own way, and if there was one thing you learned from your old friends, it was to never underestimate the power of a cute girl. 

“Yeah, well—” Tendō continues, but his mouth snaps shut when Ushijima lays a hand on his shoulder. Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at the scene; his hands are so big, and so is he! So tall, so intimidating, with such a deep and strong voice. Even from what little you know about volleyball, you can tell that he has all the qualities of an ace player, from his head down to his toes. 

He knows it too, you think. He’s just the type, the sort of athlete with immeasurable confidence in everything he does. You respect it to a point, at least, but that point seems to have long since passed with Ushijima Wakatoshi; something about his own self-sufficiency bothers you in a way you can’t pin down. So when he remarks for what feels like the hundredth time that Emiko shouldn’t be concerned about their diets, you can’t help but chime in.

“Actually,” you start, balling up the meat bun wrapper in your hand, “It’s been estimated that a loss of ten pounds can shave twenty seconds off of the time it takes you to run one and a half kilometers, give or take. And this multiplies over distance; the longer you run, the more time you save. I wouldn’t say Emiko’s concern is unfounded, especially if she’s worried about your performance. Losing weight can help more than you think.”

The gymnasium falls silent. You panic almost immediately, a lump cramming itself into your throat. 

“Not that I think any of you _need_ to lose weight! I just meanl—”

As if on cue, the team began cracking up. From Semi to Goshiki, a small chorus of laughter echoes all around you; Tendō looks like he finds you to be the funniest human on the planet, while even Shirabu shows some humor in his expression. 

They all seem to enjoy your commentary. All of them except one.

Ushijima looks at you like you’ve just made an attempt on his life; his eyes narrow even more, the olive-green glare burning holes into your scalp. You suddenly want nothing more than for the entire floor to disappear and suck you up, away from the slow-burning fury that radiates off of him. You’re rarely ever this close to someone when you metaphorically step on their toes. 

_Oh well,_ you try to tell yourself as the coach whistles for them to get back to practice, _at least I’ll have a good story to tell Stingy-chan._


	5. In Which You Get A Bad Grade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Long time no see, right? Well, that's cause I've been working on my other series so much lately. The good thing about this one, though, is that it's less serious than the other two, so I can crank out shorter filler chapters and not feel AS bad. Haha. 
> 
> Be sure to visit me on my tumblr, sabbywrites, for other updates and to see what series will be added to next! Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> xoxo sabby

Friday rolls along with ease, coming so fast that it actually makes you suspicious. Never before in your very short life had a week gone by so fast, especially one where you had plenty of obligations and not enough time to really sleep. 

Then, like a ton of bricks being dropped one by one onto your head, you realize why. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, looking over the exam your teacher had just placed face-down on your desk. You’d taken it last week, and while you had been half asleep at the time, you hadn’t expected to do so bad. 

20%. It’s written in and circled with a bright red marker, along with a generic ‘see me after class!’ that you find a bit excessive. You bury your face in your hands, already trying to calculate how the grade will impact your current standing in the class. 

It’ll bring you down from an A to a D. Awesome. Is it even legal to have one exam count for so much of your grade? Already you can hear your mother nagging at you to study more and your father complaining that you’re never going to succeed past high school. Maybe you can beg your teacher to pass you just this once, she seems to be understanding—

The look on her face when your class dismissed for lunch, however, holds no room for compromise. “[Surname].” 

You hang your head, hoping that the act of shame would soften her expression. It doesn’t. “I’m sorry, Hamada-Sensei. I don’t know why—”

She leans forward on her desk. It takes you by surprise to see the slight contempt in the way she frowns, and it hits you a little late that this has been a long time coming. “[Surname], don’t try to weasel out of this. You’ve been falling asleep in nearly every English lesson, and I know you don’t study.” She leans back again, appraising you from her desk chair in a way that makes you want to tuck your metaphorical tail between your legs. 

“But I—”

“No buts. If you want to stay in this class, you’d better get your English grade up, and I mean it. One more score like this and I’ll have no problem transferring you to class three or four. You knew what you signed up for here. I expected better.” 

You wince. One of the only reasons you mother had allowed you to rent an apartment and go to school at a place like Shiratorizawa was because of the great education you’d be receiving; moving to a lower class level is certain to have you pulled from enrollment and tossed into another school. You’ve already worked so hard to get where you are, to get away from home; you can’t afford to go back with freedom so close. 

Your thought process must be evident on your face, for your teacher seems to soften around the edges just the tiniest bit. “Alright, [Surname], listen. I’ll give you a chance to make the exam up next weekend. In the meantime, I suggest you get yourself a tutor.”

“Can’t you just tutor me, ma’am?”

Her nostrils flare; you immediately regret asking the question. “Of course not. You fall asleep in class, [Surname], what makes you think that would make me want to help you on my own time?”

You scowl, but didn’t bother retorting. After a moment, she sighs. 

“Lucky for you,” she grumbles, grabbing a pen and a scrap of paper, “I happen to know a student whose skill in English is better than mine. Have them teach you.” She writes down what you presume to be a name, then folds the paper and hands it to you. After a beat of you not moving, she gestures for you to leave with her hand. 

“Get out of my sight, [Surname]. And make sure this is the last time we have to talk like this.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You mutter, clenching the slip of paper in your hand as you gather your bag. The hall is blessedly empty when you leave the room—for some reason, you assumed that your fellow classmates had been eavesdropping on the conversation— but you still wait until you get to your locker before opening up the slip of paper, as if it holds some sort of classified government secret. 

It doesn’t. The contents, however, make you go pale. 

“ _You’ve got to be fucking kidding me._ ”

~*~

Emiko Hashimoto whistles a short tune to herself as she unties her bento, the soft cloth slipping through her fingers with ease. For a brief moment she wonders if you had decided not to eat outside today just to spite her, but the sound of the door slamming open and you running across the grass voids her theory. 

“Hey, [Surname]-san!” She chirps, but whatever else she has on the tip of her tongue becomes irrelevant at the sight of your flushed expression. 

“You know English, right?” 

She smiles up at you, suddenly quite excited.

“Yes! It’s actually my first language, I—”

“Emiko. _Teach me._ ”

She balks a little bit at your serious expression. “Teach you? [Surname]-san, that’s asking quite a bit, I barely had time to teach Kenjirō English…”

“Please!” You wail, and it takes her by surprise that there’s actually a note of panic and desperation to your plea. She weighs the pros and cons, put the bad before the good like Wakatoshi had always taught her, and shrugs. 

“I mean, I can teach you some of it during practices, I guess. What do you need help with?”

You seem to be glad that she asked, because in approximately five seconds you pul out an exam with an embarrassingly low grade. Her brows rise mostly out of habit than her trying to make you feel bad, but— wow, that’s a _horrible_ score.

“Grammar, mostly. I can’t really figure out the plurals, and it’s driving me nuts and I just keep sleeping through all the fucking classes.” Emiko never expected to hear such hysteria in your voice but there it was, creeping slowly into every word you speak. She shares a look with Kenjirō, who only looks mildly invested, then nods. 

“The plurals are pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I can teach you in no time!” She tries her best to sound as energetic as always, but she can already visualize all of her potential free time swirling down the drain.

It’ll be worth it, she reminds herself as her hands clench a little at her sides. The relief that floods your face is only a secondary reward for her. 

_For Wakatoshi, it’ll be worth it._


	6. In Which You Talk To Godzilla's Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO UPDATES? IN 24 HOURS? Yes, it's true. I should be studying for finals, but I really wanted to get the ball rolling in this story so I'll probably be updating it frequently. Hence the shorter chapters; for now, at least. 
> 
> ALSO, am I the only one who thinks Tendō looks like a lizard? Like???? I love him to death but he's the spitting image of the bearded dragon I had when I was a kid. His name was Rusty. (RIP Rusty) 
> 
> ANYWAYS, If you wanna contact me anytime and get a response like, hella fast, my tumblr is sabbywrites.tumblr.com
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy the chapter! I promise there will be a shit-ton more Ushijima interactions coming up, but I wanted to establish the reader as a character first before moving on. Ya feel me? 
> 
> xoxo sabby

“So, typically when you’re creating the plural form of something in English, you add an ’s’ to the end, though there are many cases where you’ll have to change the actual structure of the word. For example, ‘baby’ does not become ‘babys’. It becomes ‘babies’.”

“Uh huh.” You scribble down as much of Emiko’s lecture as you can, though it still isn't quite resonating with you. You pause. “How do you know so much?”

“It’s my first language. I’ve told you that like, eight times already. Do you seriously not listen to me at all?” It’s the first time Emiko lets some of her irritation bleed through; she reins it in almost instantly, however.

To your credit, you manage a guilty face. Emiko sighs, rolling her eyes at you, before getting slightly distracted at the fact that Eita seems to be slacking off. “OI! You can play better than that! I’m not here to watch some chumps!”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. These boys had a coach for a reason, but you have to admit that some of them— namely that freaking massive redhead— listen to Emiko’s ranting a bit more. Especially when she gets that sort of glint in her eye that you’ve come to realize means she isn’t pleased. 

“I should have just gone to Nekoma or something. They have cuter uniforms for girls, anyways.” Emiko mutters, sitting down once she’s satisfied that the setter is putting in the maximum amount of effort. Tendō (were you _actually_ learning their names? Ugh.) chooses that exact moment to take a break from his serves to grab a water bottle, the spark in his eye betraying the fact that he’s been eavesdropping. 

“You only wish you could go to Nekoma because you want to fuck their captain.” He jabs, taking a rather audible gulp of water. 

You heard around school that people used to call this guy a monster. You can’t exactly disagree; he looks like a giant lizard. 

“Go to hell.” Emiko spits, though you can hear an underlying tone of affection in the insult. It’s easy to see why Shirabu assumed the two were dating. “You think I want to fuck every captain.”

“Don’t you? I recall you stalking that guy from Johzenji on Facebook for like, two weeks last year—”

“Just because you’re in the starting lineup doesn’t mean I won’t hesitate to break all of your fingers.” Emiko glowers, her ears turning a little bit pink. Tendō snickers, obviously one to enjoy riling up the manager, before he turns to you. 

“So, what’s your deal? You wanna fuck a captain too?” He jerks his head towards Ushijima, whose attention is currently on one of the other players. Soekawa, Emiko pointed out earlier. 

You snort. “For your information, I’m here because I need help with my English grade.” You point to Emiko who, on cue, smiles. “And this seemed like a convenient time.”

“ _You_ need help with your grades? Aren’t you, like, your class valedictorian?”

You scowl. Emiko flinches, suddenly sensing a rather intimidating aura radiating off of you that she hadn’t known you were capable of producing. 

“Salutatorian, if you must know.” You scoff, though you wonder internally if you were still able to call yourself that, considering your recent test score. 

“Cool. Nice. So why are you _actually_ here?” He asks, but before you can ask for clarification, Emiko shoots him a foul look. 

“Court. _Now_.” She seethes; he looks ready to indulge in more banter, however, but Ushijima himself chooses that exact moment to also cast the middle blocker a glare. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll talk to you later, Emi-chan!” He chirps; you wonder if he’s aware that the cutesy nickname seemed to earn him brownie points, since Emiko’s expression falters slightly. 

“I hate him.” She sighs. You were inclined to agree that he wasn’t the nicest person to be around, seeing as how he could definitely tell that there was something suspicious about you being there. 

“Why _am_ I here?” You ask Emiko once there was nobody else to eavesdrop. She frowns. 

“To work on your English grade. You said it yourself.”

“Yeah, but before then you bribed me to come here with meat buns. Which you still owe me, by the way.”

“I’m helping you get a good grade. I don’t owe you anything.” She takes a sip from a water bottle (the same one that that Tendō just put down, _gross_ ), her eyes not leaving the players in front of her. 

“Yeah, but it would still be nice.” You mumble, doodling on the edge of your notebook page. 

“To be honest with you, I had a little bit of a plan.”

You scoff. “No shit. You gonna tell me what it is?”

“No.” She takes another sip. Is she really not bothered at all that some guy who looks like Godzilla’s son just had his mouth all over that bottle? I mean, you get the fact that she was close to the team, but even this seemed _too_ unsanitary—

“Because I’m still hoping it will pan out. Which reminds me,” she turns her gaze to you again, affording you something that you will come to know as a very rare instance of openness, “are you free tomorrow?”


	7. In Which the Plot Thickens Just a Tad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated this in so long; I've been back at work and also a little distracted by my tumblr (sabbywrites.tumblr.com)! I've been doing headcanons and such over there, as well as talking to a lot of you guys (I'm literally doing an audio chat as I type this. It's pretty lit). 
> 
> The chapter is short and we still have a little bit to go before the plot ACTUALLY thickens, but I figured it was about time that I introduced a character that will become incredibly relevant as the story goes on. 
> 
> Without further ado, here's the next chapter! I hope you guys like uneventful bullshit lmaO 
> 
> xoxo Sabby

**[Name] (9:52):** Hey. So I was wondering…

**Stingy-Chan (9:52):** If you’re trying to weasel out of our plans then just say it

**[Name] (9:52):** No! It’s not that. Though I do have some changes I need to make. I won’t be able to stay at your house for long. Some girl from that practice thing I’ve been going to is basically making me go to her house in the evening for some weird bonding shit. 

**Stingy-Chan (9:53):** are you making this up? bc it kind of sounds like you’re in a cult now

**[Name] (9:53):** Swear on my life that I’m not. I’ll even snapchat you pictures as proof. 

**Stingy-Chan (9:53):** I mean I don’t really care that much

You sighed, rolling your eyes. _Typical_ of him to be so uncaring about everything. You snapped your phone shut, a little exhausted after trying to pester Emiko during practice, and willed yourself to fall asleep.  
__

The thing you were most looking forward to doing on your Saturdays was sleep in. Unfortunately, having two places to be that were nowhere near close to each other meant that you had to get up early and get ready. It was only fair that you give them an equal amount of time, but you were already regretting it after you missed getting your toothpaste on your toothbrush for the second time. 

Your small apartment was silent. Usually around this time in middle school your mother would be bustling around and your father would be talking about whatever was on the morning news, but now the only sounds were the running of your tap and the ticking of the clock outside your bathroom. It was moments like these that you regretted getting your own place in order to be close to the school; you missed the warmth and chatter of mornings. 

**[Name] (8:25):** I’m about to head out of my apartment now. 

You waited for a few minutes for a confirmation message, but after spending the time either tapping your foot or staring at the clock, you decided that you didn’t really care. You were sure his mother would let you in regardless of whether or not he was sleeping. 

You were right. Well, in a way. You were let in to the house, of course, but not by the woman you expected. 

“[Name]! Woah, it’s been a while. Did you get taller?”

“Akiteru!” You said, and for the first time in a while a genuine smile spread across your face. “Kei didn’t say you’d be home!”

“Of course he didn’t.” Akiteru Tsukishima rolled his eyes but kept the surprised grin on his face, his tawny eyes as bright as they always were. “I’ve only been back for a little bit, though. A friend of mine is in town and I thought I’d swing by and stay awhile. God, how have you _been_?”

You laughed. Akiteru was as talkative as you remembered. It was nice; it reminded you of when things were a little bit easier. 

“I’ve been great. Shiratorizawa has been kicking my ass though. I had to get my own place near it because I wasn’t able to commute every morning.” You replied, dropping your bag on the floor and taking off your shoes. Akiteru nodded in understanding. 

“Yeah, I get that. But it’s Shiratorizawa, so it must be worth it. How’s the volleyball there? I heard the number one ace in the prefecture goes there. You know him?”

You blinked, suddenly picturing the muscled curves of Ushijima’s arms and the way his brow furrowed when he spiked the ball. “Yeah, just a little bit. He doesn’t talk much. I know his best friend, though. She’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Huh, go figure. Well, I’m about to head out. Kei is in his room.” Akiteru patted you on the shoulder fondly, the same way he did when you were in middle school. “If you need anything, you have my number.”

And then he was off, leaving you in a silent house full of childhood memories. 

“Kei!” You called once you were sure that Akiteru was gone. “Kei, I know you’re pretending to sleep!”

You heard a grumble come from up the stairs and you sighed to yourself, already able to tell that the chipper mood from seeing Akiteru wouldn’t last long at all. 

“Whatever, fine! I’m coming up there, though!” You said, trudging up the stairs and to the door that you knew by heart, though your knocks were definitely more powerful now than they were when you were younger. 

No answer. “Kei, I swear to god I will destroy every dinosaur figurine in that room if you don’t—”

The door opened a crack. “Why are you so noisy?”

You scoffed, pushing your way into the room easily. Tsukishima Kei stood behind the door, scowl on his face and his hair sticking up every which way. You would have laughed at the sight had it not been so pitiful. 

“‘Why are you so noisy’? You haven’t seen me in forever and the best you can do is ask me why I’m noisy?” You scoffed, but there was a fondness in your tone that nobody else but him would be able to hear. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?” 

You brushed past your childhood friend and made a beeline for his messy bed, sitting down on the edge and scanning the room. It hadn’t changed much in the past few months, save for the fact that there was a growing pile of textbooks on the desk and the addition of a few plastic dinosaurs that you had never seen before. 

“Yeah. I’ve been told.” He grunted, but he sat down next to you anyway. “How’s school been?”

“Shitty. Bombed one of my English tests, so now I have to get some annoying-ass girl to teach me.”

“That’s what happens when you think you’re too good to study.” Tsukishima deadpanned, and you swatted at his shoulder. 

“I hate you, you know that?”

“You came all the way here to see me, so excuse me for not believing you.” 

You fell onto your back with a loud _thwump!_ of the sheets, the springs of Kei’s mattress creaking in protest. Already you were starting to feel a bit more like yourself and less like the gruff personality you held on to at school. It was like letting go of extra weight that you had been carrying for far too long, and it was very much needed. 

“So you’re in a club now?” Kei mimicked your movement from earlier, albeit a bit more gracefully. You were thankful; this way, he seemed less like the grumpy titan that he was now and more like the chatty boy you grew up with. 

“Not really. The annoying girl I mentioned earlier is trying to get me to join or something though. I don’t really know.”

You didn’t see Tsukishima lift his eyebrows at the remark, but you knew him well enough to know that he did so. 

“It’s sounding more and more like a cult each time you mention it.” He said, and you bit back a laugh in favor of scanning his room once again. There was a track jacket that you didn’t recognize slung over the back of his desk chair. A pair of green-accented sneakers sat next to his door. 

“You’re still paying volleyball.” You said, and the question was phrased more like a statement than anything else. Tsukishima grunted in confirmation. 

“The guys who play volleyball at Shiratorizawa are really weird. They practice for hours, honestly. I don’t see how they never get tired.”

Another grunt. Time to change the subject. 

“How’s Tadashi? I haven’t texted him in a while either.”

“He’s fine. He plays too.”

“Are you both regulars?”

A pause. “I am.” 

“Woah, Kei, that’s cool!”

“It’s only because I’m so tall.” 

You nudged the blond in the ribs gently. “Don’t say that. You’ve always been good at volleyball. Speaking of which, is there a reason that you’re not talking to your brother or have you just decided that you’re going to always be a raging douche now?”

Another pause. “You’re annoying.”

“You can’t just say that to avoid the question!”

“I can, and I just did. Let’s talk about something else.” 

“Fine. What’re the new dinosaurs in your collection, then?”

__

Your conversation continued well on into the afternoon, even after Kei’s mother got home from the store and Akiteru returned with his friend in tow. You talked about everything new in your life, from the fact that Kei seemed to be getting way too many girls asking about him to the dumb thing your teacher said to you in class the other day. It was easy conversation, the kind that made you nostalgic and a little bit heartbroken, but like all good things it came to an end. 

**[UNKNOWN] (1:36):** Hey, just wondering if you were still coming over tonight. I’ve got a few practice problems that you can do. 

**[Name] (1:37):** How did you get this number?

**[UNKNOWN] (1:37):** I have my sources. Any snacks you want me to get from the store?

**[Name] (1:37):** I’m fine. I’m not at home right now, so it’ll still be a while before I’m over. 

**[UNKNOWN] (1:37):** That’s fine! Can’t wait!!!!!!!

You sighed. 

“Who’s that?” 

“Annoying girl somehow got my number.” You said, shoving your phone into your pocket. “Which I guess means that’s my cue to leave. It’s been real.”

“Later.” Tsukishima said, and you rolled your eyes at the fact that he was obviously not going to walk you to the door. You flicked him on the ear before you departed, promising that you’d be back sometime soon. 

Tsukishima’s mother seemed to have a heart attack when you came down the stairs. “Oh! Honey, I didn’t know you were here!”

You smiled at the woman, who was currently making lunch. “Ah, sorry. I was just stopping by to say hi.”  
“Oh! Well, I’m happy I got to see you, even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

God. How did such a chipper woman birth someone like Kei? The world sure was a funny place sometimes. 

“I could say the same.” You walked back out into the living room with the intent of slipping your shoes back on, when you see him. 

He’s sitting next to Akiteru with an easy smile, leaning back on the couch cushions as he shows the elder Tsukishima brother something on his phone. You actually freeze for a second because you recognize that boy’s face from somewhere, you just _know_ it. He seems to feel the intensity of your stare and his eyes flick upwards to meet yours for a moment. 

They’re a powdery blue. Yes, you _definitely_ know Akiteru’s friend from somewhere. You couldn’t completely forget that gaze, not with eyes that color, but you can’t place a name to the face and it makes your expression scrunch up a little bit. Akiteru breaks your concentration, though, because he notices you next to the door. 

“Ah! Are you leaving already?” He asked. You gesture for him to sit back down when he goes to stand. 

“Yeah,” you said, trying to give him a small smile, “but I’ll be back soon. Maybe when I don’t have as much schoolwork to do.”

Oh, man. You hate lying to Akiteru. 

“Alright. I’ll see you around, then!” He said, and you wave at him before leaving. 

The entire way home, though, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there were eyes boring straight into your skull.


	8. In Which The POV Is Split

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, well, well... look what I finally got around to doing! I hope you guys haven't forgotten about this story yet! It's been a while- so long, in fact, that I don't even write in the same tense anymore- and while I know this is a little bit of a short update, I hope it gets the ball rolling for me so I can update more soon. 
> 
> Additionally, this chapter fully introduces the second protagonist of this story, who is an OC. I hope you guys like him, as you'll kind of be stuck with him and the reader switching points of view for the rest of the story. Additionally, his story will be more fleshed out in later chapters, so if there's any confusion now, it'll hopefully be resolved soon. 
> 
> xoxo, sabby

You’ve always been convinced that the dorms at Shiratorizawa were set up so that only the most astute students at the school could manage to find their way through them to get to class; the damn buildings were built like a maze. You swear you’ve passed the same hall of rooms at least fifteen times before you finally get to the one you’re looking for. 

You stare at the number on the door for a good half minute, as if your eyes are eating up and digesting them, processing the fact that you’re about to willingly spend time with someone that you wouldn’t have been caught dead with two weeks ago. You clench your fist and sigh as you raise it to the door, reminding yourself that you’re doing this for your own good, for your _parents_ —

The door to room 1717 swings open before your knuckles can make contact with it, causing you to blink in surprise. This is the second time today that you’ve been surprised at someone’s door, and you might have given a little chuckle at the thought had your nose not been suddenly assaulted by a smell that you can only describe as skunkish. 

“Were you planning on waiting in the hallway forever? Or did you think the room had a secret passcode or something?” Semi Eita looks much, much taller up close, his dark, reddened eyes staring down into your own. A wisp of smoke escapes with his words, floating up towards the ceiling lazily as he takes you in.

“I was about to knock.” You say, already cursing how small your voice sounds. 

“Yeah?” Semi brings the joint between his fingers up to his lips and takes a drag, his eyes glossy but still focused. After a beat, he steps aside and waves you in, pulling the door shut behind you. 

You know immediately that this isn’t Emiko’s dorm. The decor is too minimal, too tidy to be hers. You figure it must be Semi’s, if the disabled smoke detector is anything to go by, but you don’t get much room for questioning before your attention is diverted elsewhere. 

“[Surname]-san, you made it!” Emiko smiles at you, waving more enthusiastically than one should. She’s sitting on a well-made bed, a notebook in her lap, while a few members of the team sit on the floor, scarfing down a pizza like it’s the last meal they’ll ever have. 

Tendō. Yamagata. Reon. It’s scary how well you know their names by now. 

“Didn’t know hot boxing a room was your preferred method of studying.” You say, dropping your bag on the floor. Emiko looks embarrassed for a moment, and you almost feel bad for the dry tone of your voice. 

“Not really my choice. It’s Eita-senpai’s room, he can do whatever he wants.” She says, scratching a little at the back of her neck. Tendō looks at you as you cross the room, the whites of his eyes almost the same color as his hair. He waves a slice of pizza in your general direction, and you turn down the offer with an eye roll. 

“Surprised you guys never get in trouble when they drug test you.” You say, plopping down on the bed next to your tutor. 

“They don’t bother.” Semi passes his joint to Yamagata, who seems so high that he can barely move faster than a sloth. 

“They all assume we’re straight-laced like Wakkun.” Tendō supplies, taking a bite of the slice you turned down. A strand of cheese falls onto his chin. “And I’m not about to correct them.” 

Emiko clears her throat, shooting Tendō a warning glance. He smiles up at her, patting one of her legs with a fond laugh. She immediately scoots out of his reach. 

In an attempt to smooth out the slight awkwardness in the air, Emiko hands the notebook to you. “Here. I made a list of the basic terms that you’ll probably see on your next test, and a couple grammatical notes. I looked at the worksheet you gave me from your class, and it seems that you’re just having issues remembering how to make different plurals, like the ones we talked about. They’re really easy once you get the hang of them.” 

“Oh.” You say, rather dumbly. “Wow, that was… actually really nice of you. Thanks.”

Her face immediately flushes. “It was no problem at all!”

“It was for me.” Tendō groans, his mouth full. “She stayed up all last night making that thing for you. Wouldn’t even text me back.”

“You just wanted to bum my copy of _Shōnen Jump_ again!”

“So?”

“ _So_? Get your own damn subscription, dumbass!”

“Oi, you’re a lot nicer to me when we’re alone, Emi-chan.” 

Emiko runs a hand over her face. “Why are you so much more annoying when you’re stoned?”

“I dunno, you tell me.”  
“God, shut the hell up.” Semi groans, snatching the joint back from Yamagata. “This is even worse than the hour you spent trying to get Ushijima to admit he wanted to bang [Surname] last night.” 

You nearly choke on your own saliva. “Excuse me?”

Yamagata waves his hand at you. “Pretend you didn’t hear that. You should probably start studying.” 

~*~

“So Kei actually has friends?” 

Akiteru snorts, looking at his companion with a crooked grin. “If you can call [Name] that, I suppose. I think he just tolerates her more than the rest of us.”

A snort. A pause. “So. She goes to Shiratorizawa, I heard?”

Akiteru rolls his eyes. “Don’t you even dare think about work right now. You only just got back, man. You don’t have to keep running all over the place; a break is called a _break_ for a reason.” 

Hijikata Sōsuke grins, enough so that the corners of his powder-blue eyes crinkle. It’s a boyish smile, one that many people of the town know well, but it has a weariness to it that makes Akiteru’s own expression falter just a bit. 

“I couldn’t run around even if I _wanted_ to, Akiteru.” 

And just like that, a silence lapses between the two of them that seems to stretch on for miles. Akiteru can’t help the way his eyes instinctively pass over the brace on his best friend’s knee, can’t help but remember the way his leg seems to want to buckle every time he walks—

“Oi, stop looking at it. If I wanted a pity party, I would’ve asked you to get me a cake.”

“Right.” Akiteru nudges Sōsuke, as if doing so will bring back the lightheartedness from before. It helps, somewhat. “As if you have enough time in your schedule to attend a party.”

“Hey, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Only because work forced you to be.” 

“Valid point. Speaking of work,” Sōsuke says, “mind telling me all about the local teams?” 

“As if you haven’t been reading all the articles about them online.”

“Most of them, yeah. But it’s been harder and harder to find articles about our lovely alma mater lately.”

“That’s because the current team isn’t like yours was.” Akiteru says, raising a brow. “They can only do so much, what with—”

“Old Ukai gone, yeah. I heard. Wish I had known sooner; would’ve been nice if I could have come back to be coach.”

“Yeah, like you’re coach material.” 

“Ah, you’re right. My leadership skills are lacking, that’s why I was voted captain two years in a row.” 

“No need to rub it in my face, Sō, we all know you peaked in high school.” 

Akiteru earns a flick to the nose for his remark. He grins. 

“Speaking of ‘peaking’ in high school, how’s Hana—”

A shrill chirp interrupts Akiteru’s question, and he doesn’t miss the wave of relief that washes over Sōsuke’s expression. He digs into his pocket for his phone, flipping it open and scanning the text he just received. 

“Let me guess.” Akiteru sighs. “You have to go.”

“Work never stops. They need me down at the shop to take a look at the newest project. Engine’s busted and they have no idea why.” Sōsuke flips his phone shut. “Mind helping me up?”

“Do I have a choice?” Akiteru retorts, but his tone is light and he gets up regardless. Sōsuke shoots him a thankful smile, gesturing to his knee with a sad flourish. 

“Not really, no.” He says, and as Akiteru helps him to his feet, he can’t help but think about you, and why you looked so damn familiar.


	9. In Which You Feel Guilty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I'm back again with another update to this series; hopefully they'll be getting longer now that most of the main characters have been introduced. As you may have guessed by now, Sōsuke is going to be the secondary protagonist of this story, and his own background will factor heavily into the reader's future. I hope you guys don't mind seeing part of the story through his eyes!
> 
> Hope all of you are doing well! <3
> 
> xoxo Sabby

Few things make Hijikata Sōsuke feel as bad as lying does. 

He sighs as he slides into the front seat of his car, the setting sun painting the sky outside of his windshield like an oil painting. He can’t admire it, though, not with guilt already gnawing at his insides. He beeps his horn in farewell to Akiteru as the engine rumbles to life, headlights cutting cone-shaped light across the nearly deserted street. It’s a weekend but the town is still quiet; everyone is indoors, at the dinner table with their families or doing their last bit of homework for the week. 

Sōsuke remembers his nights here, how he used to practice with his volleyball in his back yard until angry burst capillaries dotted his arms and his palms felt numb from how many serves he sent sailing over the net. He remembers being out there until he could barely see the surface of the ball in the moonlight and his father had to come outside, weary-eyed and drained, and tell him that he needed to come inside before he caught another cold. 

The streets don’t seem as familiar to him as they used to be. He almost misses his first turn, which takes him in the opposite direction of the auto body shop that he told Akiteru he was going to. Guilt washes over him again. He bites on his lip, willing it away. 

It stays. 

The black car, with its nearly-wet shine, creeps through the neighborhoods that Sōsuke used to frequent. He keeps his eyes straight ahead but there’s a temptation on more than one occasion to look to the side and drink in all the houses he used to know, to remember the good times he had walking down these sidewalks with a green popsicle in one hand and his other intertwined with a much smaller one. Things were so much more simple back then, even though they felt so very complex. A longing surges through him, one that he knows will not be answered, and with another sigh he turns again, down a shorter road. 

A building looms at the end, simple lines standing out against the otherwise unremarkable skyline of Torono Town. His heart clenches at the sight of it and he almost stops, but at the last second he presses down a little more on the gas pedal. He speeds up. The building comes closer and closer like a ghost in a bad dream, and yet Sōsuke does not stop. Not until he’s pulling into a parallel set of white lines and putting his car into park. He doesn’t turn the keys in the ignition; the rumble of the engine soothes him. 

Karasuno High school stands tall like it did back when he attended, when the whole building felt like the oyster to his pearl. He stares at it for a long moment, wondering if he should just get out and go to the gym and take a look around—

No. There’s bound to be people practicing. The new generation, the one that the sports sections of the local newspapers have been failing to report on. He wonders how much can change in just a couple of years, how things could go south so fast for such a powerhouse of a school, but then he looks at his knee, looks at the brace, and he understands. 

__

“I’ll start studying after you tell me what the _hell_ you just said.”

Emiko looks between you and Semi as if she’s not quite sure if she should intervene.

“You heard me just fine.” Semi exhales a thick cloud of smoke, staring up at you. He’s unbothered. 

“Really? Because it sounds like you said Tendō was trying to convince Ushijima-san to admit—”

“That he wants to bang you? Yeah!”

Emiko opens her mouth at Tendō’s outburst, then closes it again. You can practically see her trying to figure out a way to steer the conversation in a different direction. 

“Well.” You say, “that’s highly inappropriate.”

Yamagata snickers into his hand. You resist the urge to kick him in the head. 

“So? It’s true. You two obviously have some tension going on.”

“If by ‘tension’ you mean that he said something and I corrected him, _once_ , then yeah. Sure. Not really grounds to base a sexual relationship on, you know?”

“God.” Tendō rolls his eyes but the stupid grin still remains. “Emiko-chan, why are your friends never any fun?”

“You do realize you insulted all of us, seeing as how we’re her only friends.” Semi drawls, picking up a slice of pizza after passing the joint back to Yamagata. 

“Good point.” 

Emiko swallows and looks back down at her notes. The tips of her ears are dusted pink; you somehow, inexplicably, feel sorry for her. 

“English is really easy once you get the hang of it.” She mutters after a moment.

“You’ve said that a few times before.” You pause, not wanting to sound too harsh. “…Hashimoto-san.”

“A-ah, yeah, well I mean it. If I can speak English, then anyone can.”

“You said it was your mother tongue. I think that’s a little bit of an unfair advantage.”

“Well, I’ve still retained it after all these years. So, where do you want to start— plurals or greetings?”

“You could start by getting us another pizza.” Yamagata says, his mouth still half-full with melting cheese. Emiko sends him a withering look. 

“If you guys keep all of this up, I’m going to make you run extra laps tomorrow at practice.” 

And finally, _finally_ , the trio shuts up.

__

Time surprisingly flies when you’re studying with Emiko. Your teacher was right to recommend her; she carries you through formal and informal greetings with ease, corrects your pronunciation with a smile, and even gives you a few tips on remembering the correct way to form a plural with different types of words. Your lesson is void of the regular annoyance that used to come with hearing her voice, and instead you see something that makes you freeze— a real, feeling human being. 

With a start, you realize that you’ve left your guard down. You hadn’t even noticed, and the thought scares you. 

You fall silent until the end of the lesson. You barely acknowledge the boys as they bid you farewell when Emiko walks you out. You stare ahead as she shuts the dorm door behind you and walks with you down the hall, towards the stairwell that takes you to the main entrance. In fact, you barely even remember that she’s there until she clears her throat, looking at you with round eyes. 

“I’m sorry for their crude comments, [Surname]-san.” She says, fiddling with the straps of her bag. 

“Huh?”

“About Wakatoshi-kun.”

“Oh. Forget it; they’re just horny teenage boys. They’ll make anything about sex.” You reason, pausing to look back at her. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of dark brown, almost black. They remind you of a faithful dog’s, eager to please and constantly seeking validation. 

She seems to want you to continue. You mull your words over. 

“Is what they said true?”

“About Tendō trying to force him to admit he wanted to… uh, sleep with you? Yes, I was there—”

“No,” you shake your head, “about you. What Semi said.”

Silence lapses between the two of you. You almost want to slap yourself for bringing up such an obviously touchy subject; her face falls. 

“Yeah. Well, sort of.” She gives a nervous little titter, scratching the back of her neck. “I just spend so much time with them, you know, and Wakatoshi and I have been close since I was seven… I guess it does make sense that they’re my only friends.”

You keep staring at her. You want to say something, but you don’t know what. A wave of guilt passes through you. You try to brush it away. 

“After all, Eita-senpai is like that a lot. Blunt, I mean. He doesn’t mean to be rude. It’s not like he’s wrong, either.”

And then you can see it in her eyes; she wants you to correct her. She wants you to tell her that the two of you are friends, that you don’t mind being around her. For the first time since you started at Shiratorizawa, you’re being presented with the opportunity to make a new friend, one that isn’t the pessimistic string bean that you’ve known since your diaper days. 

Part of you wants to assure her, to tell her that she’s not an annoyance or a nag, but you can’t. The words won’t leave your tongue.

“Good night, Hashimoto-san.” You say instead, and before you can watch her face fall again, you turn and start down the stairs. 

“Good night, [Surname]-san.” She says softly behind you, and if you hadn’t braced yourself for it, the injured tone to her voice might have broken your heart.


	10. In Which You (Try To) Go Grocery Shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's up, guys? It's been a few months since I posted an update, so I figured one was due. Now that I have my chapters being Beta read, I'm certain that the quality of them will go up-- reading the first few chapters of this story makes me cringe. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to note-- I've changed the reader's class from five to seven. It just makes more sense for the story. 
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! I'm eager to see what kinds of questions you guys have for the series-- a lot is up in the air right now, though some of it will be answered relatively soon and some won't-- and I also hope that I'm portraying the characters correctly!
> 
> xoxo sabby

"So what’s your deal?”

Emiko squints up at Tendō, a single eyebrow rising on her forehead. The fluorescent lights of the dorm hallway makes her face an odd white-green color. 

“My deal?” She repeats. Her hands tighten on the straps of her bag almost reflexively as she looks into the middle blocker’s eyes. Although his eyes have started to lose their irritated redness in the sclera, she can still smell the stench that lingers on his clothing. 

Her nose twitches. 

“Yeah. You seem off.”

“Oh?” Her hands flex again. She knows he notices it, but to his credit he refrains from commenting. “Are you talking about the whole thing with [Surname]-san? Because that’s kind of a complicated thing, actually—”

“I’m aware. Shirabu told me about it in the locker room.” Tendō shoots his manager a lopsided smile as her face flushes, somewhat thankful that the two of them are alone on their walks back to their own dorm rooms. It’s easier to pry things out of her when she’s alone. 

“He did? Well that’s weird, I haven’t talked to him about it much—”

“Are you dating Wakkun?”

The second year nearly chokes on her own saliva as she skids to a stop, her eyes so wide that Tendō fears, for a moment, that they might pop out of her skull. 

“Excuse me?”

“Well, beside the fact that you seem uncomfortable any time someone mentions [Surname] and Wakkun, the two of you have been acting differently.” His tone is frank— bored, even— but Emiko can see in his eyes that there’s something more to the observation. She curses internally for allowing herself to forget how perceptive the upperclassman is; especially since she has so many notes on that fact in her notebook. 

“I don’t—”

“Emiko,” Tendō sighs, “don’t lie to me. My big, fragile heart can’t take it.”

Emiko snorts, casting her glance away. “Big, fragile heart my ass. You’re just trying to freak me out, Satori.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Because it’s stupid!” She snaps. “Of course I’m not dating Wakatoshi. That would be like dating my brother!” 

“In some cultures, that’s not—”

“God, why are we even friends?” Emiko clicks her tongue and shakes her head, her straight hair falling about her shoulders in a disheveled mess. 

Silence stretches between the two of them as they walk. Emiko’s room is at the end of the hallway; Tendō almost dreads having to see her go. 

“If you’re not dating him, then why are the two of you acting so differently?”

“He’s not acting any different than normal. A little upset at the fact that his spikes are off, sure, but I don’t know why—”

“You’re not denying that _you’re_ acting different, though. Just tell me what’s got you all weird lately.”

More silence. Emiko bites at a patch of loose skin on her lip.

“It’s none of your business.” 

Tendō rolls his eyes, his expression mildly exasperated. “Just like how you told Shirabu that you being fixated on [Surname]-san was none of his business either.”

“He kept pestering me about it!”

“Right, right. Y’know, it’s not like you to be so secretive about things.”

“I didn’t know you were the world’s leading expert on my behavior!”

“I may as well be, given the amount of time we spend together.” 

Emiko flushes an even deeper shade of pink. “Shut up!”

“C’mon,” he urges, “just fess up. A weird obsession with a classmate, a secret between friends… this isn’t some yuri manga situation, is it?”

“First of all,” Emiko sighs, “you can’t apply the word ‘yuri’ to a real-life relationship. That’s just gross. Second of all, why do you and Kenjirō care so much about my motives lately? Nothing I’m doing is really going to become a problem for you.” 

“Yeah, but…” Tendō pauses, as if tasting his words before saying them, “I still want to know, I guess.” 

The door to Emiko’s room seems to pop up out of nowhere; the two of them pause outside of it, wordless. Awkward. She shifts on her feet, the material of her skirt swaying gently. 

“Hey.” Tendō continues. “Just tell me. I don’t like not knowing what you’re up to.” 

Emiko crosses her arms with a long-suffering sigh. “Life was a lot easier when all you wanted to talk to me about was _Shōnen Jump_.”

“Yeah, well. Now we’re friends. And friends tell each other things, right?” 

“They do.” Her mouth slides into an uncomfortable grimace. “But I want to keep this to myself.”

“I can keep a secret, you know.” 

“I know. But not this one.” 

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just am.” 

“You don’t trust me?”

“I do. It’s just not something important.”

“If it’s something that’s bothering you—”

A muted buzzing echoes into the hallway; Emiko’s phone lights up in the side pocket of her bag with a small wiggle as it vibrates. She fishes it out with a speed that doesn’t go unnoticed by the redhead, her expression shifting from mildly annoyed to excited. A tiny smile quirks at her lips as she reads the name across the screen, though she hides it before Tendō can make sense of the characters. 

“I have to take this. See you in the morning, Satori.” She says. And maybe it’s the breathless quality to her voice that gets to him, or the fact that she’s able to turn away from him and unlock her door without a backwards glance, but Tendō is suddenly struck by a sinking feeling as seeds of insidious thoughts start to take root in his brain. 

_Nah._ He thinks to himself when a particularly odd thought occurs to him. He doesn’t even want to think about it, but he does, turning the idea over like a stone in his hand, letting all the jagged protrusions nick at his heart. _That’s not right. There’s no way…_

__

For as long as you’ve been living on your own, Sundays have always been for grocery shopping. 

It’s not that you’re particularly inclined to map out your entire week; in fact, it’s just the opposite. Grocery shopping is, in your opinion, the best way to procrastinate while feeling like you’re doing something important. That’s why you find yourself walking to one of the corner markets close to campus, a canvas bag resting in the crook of your elbow as your phone screen illuminates your face in the slight darkness of the evening. 

**Stingy-Chan (6:57):** sorry for being weird yesterday 

**[Name] (6:57):** Does Akiteru visiting home really bother you that much? 

**Stingy-Chan (6:58):** kind of. and to be honest, seeing you kind of bothered me too

You snort, as if to convince yourself that looking at his words don’t hurt. You’ve always appreciated Kei’s truthfulness— in fact, it’s one of the reasons that the two of you became friends— but it’s been a while since you’ve been on the receiving end of his bluntness. You wonder if the time apart really has made the two of you so distant that even one of his over-dramatic comments can make you feel genuine sadness. You clutch your phone a little tighter in your hand. 

**[Name] (7:00):** Because I chose to go to Shiratorizawa instead of Karasuno. 

It isn’t phrased as a question. Your phone vibrates barely a moment later. 

**Stingy-Chan (7:00):** i guess

 **[Name] (7:00):** You have Tadashi, Kei. I don’t have anyone. Shouldn’t I be the one that’s upset here?

 **Stingy-Chan (7:01):** not my fault you’re weird about making friends. if it weren’t for Yamaguchi, you wouldn’t know me either

 **[Name] (7:01):** Maybe I’ll just text him, then.

 **Stingy-Chan (7:02):** god

 **Stingy-Chan (7:02):** such a drama queen

 **[Name] (7:03):** Me? I’m the drama queen? Your brother came home to visit you and you’re acting like he’s the plague. I don’t think I’m the one with the people issues here. 

He doesn’t text back for a few minutes. You wonder if you went too far. 

**Stingy-Chan (7:05):** it was nice seeing you yesterday

 **[Name] (7:05):** Is that your way of saying sorry? 

**Stingy-Chan (7:05):** no

 **[Name] (7:05):** Yes it is. You’re forgiven. 

**Stingy-Chan (7:06):** i wasn’t saying sorry

 **[Name] (7:06):** You totally were. Don’t worry, Kei, I’m not going anywhere. 

**Stingy-Chan (7:06):** obviously not, you don’t have anyone else to talk to 

Your fingers press the buttons on your phone with an intensity that matches the words of your intended sentence— _That’s not true, you jackass!_ — but the message won’t be sent. Not anytime soon, at least, because just as you round the corner to the front of the convenience store, you walk face-first into what must be the hardest surface you’ve ever felt in your life. 

Your phone clatters to the ground at the same time you let out a yelp of surprise, jumping backwards with your hands held up defensively. You’re in the middle of a well-lit sidewalk, of course, but plenty of nights alone with serial killer documentaries pulled up on your computer have told you that crazy people can strike anywhere, anytime, and you’ll be damned—

“Sorry.” 

You let out a second noise that is much more louder and much more embarrassing than your yelp moments prior, your paranoid thoughts scattering once you recognize who, exactly, you bumped into. 

A normal person might have apologized profusely, or perhaps made a nervous joke at their own expense in the situation. A normal person would have immediately bent down to pick up their phone and gotten out of the way. But you were never a normal person to begin with, and that’s only magnified by your irritation with the text conversation that you were previously wrapped up in. 

So you, being you, do what is _obviously_ the most logical thing to do; you raise one hand and point at the boy in front of you, your most accusatory voice in place. 

“ _You!_ ”

Ushijima Wakatoshi stares at you silently, blinking once as if he’s trying his hardest to place where he knows you from. You see a flicker of something pass in his eyes during the pause as he looks from your outstretched finger to your face and back again. Then, of all the things you might have expected him to say, he says the thing you expected the least. 

“Emiko’s friend.”

“What?” You say, lowering your finger. “I’m not— she’s— what are you doing here?”

It’s just about the stupidest thing you could have asked. Slowly, he lifts a hand; in it, he grasps the a plastic bag. In the light that streams out from the shop windows, you can see the contents faintly; some sort of pale blue drink, and a few oranges. He says nothing. 

“Oh, yeah. That makes sense.” You say after a moment. Then, as if your subconscious is on a mission to make the situation all the more embarrassing for you, you blurt out a “Nice to see that you’re maintaining a healthy diet.”

Again, he says nothing. You clear your throat. “Like, uh. Like I said the other day. When I was at practice. A healthy diet can help you run faster by losing—”

“I’m aware.” He says. His hand goes back to his side. “I always maintain a healthy diet.”

“Well, that’s good!” You try, “looks like I didn’t need to say all of that after all!”

“No,” he says, “you didn’t.” 

There’s a long pause in which the two of you look at each other. If you thought he was terrifying before, it’s nothing compared to how you feel now. You wonder if his resting face always makes him look like a murderer, or if he just has a bone to pick with you. Maybe both. 

“Yeah, well. Sorry, I’m not used to people knowing as much as me.” As soon as you say it, you wished you hadn’t. While it may be the truth, you’re well aware that your phrasing makes you sound like a total asshole; after all, who _doesn’t_ know that a healthy diet is beneficial? Your lips are ready to form an apology when he cuts in, his voice as flat as ever. 

“That’s a lot of confidence for someone who only got a twenty percent on their last English exam.” 

You know he’s not being a jerk— at least, not on purpose. He sounds analytical, like he’s only regurgitating the facts given to him, and yet it makes your mood go from apologetic to furious in a moment.

“Excuse me?”

He tilts his head ever so slightly. “Is that not right?”

Your hands ball into fists at your side and you curse the flush that spreads across your skin. “I mean, yeah, but—”

“Then how do you not expect someone to know more than you?”

“How do you even _know_ about that?”

Another stupid question. Emiko’s grinning face flashes into your mind; you nearly turn around right there and then to hunt the girl down. Ushijima watches you come to this realization. 

“God, what a bitch.” You mutter, more out of habit of talking to yourself than anything else. You don’t mean it— you really don’t, you’re just _frustrated_ after everything with Kei and now this, embarrassing yourself in front of someone you hardly—

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t step closer, nor does his tone really change all that much. But suddenly you feel a little threatened by the presence of Ushijima Wakatoshi, and it must show on your face for a split second before your expression hardens. His own is slightly changed as well, his eyebrows slanting downwards just a tad more than they usually seem to be. 

“God, I— I didn’t mean she’s a _bitch_ , I just meant that her telling you was— you know what? I’m not even going to bother explaining myself. You look like you want to murder me regardless.”

His eyebrow twitches faintly, but his expression is otherwise unchanging. You scoff at him. 

“And I have a _name_ , by the way.”

“I’m aware.” He says. Your eyes narrow a bit more. 

“Yeah? Well then maybe you should _use_ it next time.” You say, gathering all of your courage to march past him. 

It would have been a grand exit, too, if you didn’t have to immediately turn back and grab your cell phone by his feet.


	11. In Which Things Get Slightly Technical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I figured it was about time to update this fic, specifically in regards to the subplot that will (eventually) be cleared up a little more. I know a few things in here are vague, but that's on purpose; most everything will be revealed as time goes on. :)
> 
> This is the first of quite a few chapters where the reader themselves doesn't appear physically. I hope this doesn't dissuade any of you, because everything will have a way of connecting to them in the end. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you all enjoy this extremely boring chapter!

The charming bustle of Torono Town is often lost on Hashimoto Emiko. 

This isn’t to say that she minds it. In fact, if there were ever a moment that she would sit and focus on it, she might actually come to like the general warmth of the chatter and the laughter that fills the town’s collection of cafes; instead, however, the manager chooses to bury her nose in the latest copy of _Shōnen Jump_. 

This might be why she doesn’t realize she has company until the seat across from her is suddenly occupied. 

“‘Studious’ as ever, I see.” She blinks once in surprise, lifting her eyes from the latest installment of _One Piece_ in order to meet a pair of powder blue ones. 

“You’re early.” Is all she says. She’s rewarded with a laugh. 

“I have nothing better to do, so I figured I’d come and order a coffee before we got started with our meeting. I wasn’t expecting you to already be here.”

“Well…” Emiko gently closes her magazine and places it in front of her. “I figured it would be pretty rude of me to show up late when I have such an important audience, so I decided to show up early too.”

Hijikata Sōsuke snorts as he snatches a handful of sugar packets from the center of the table, tearing open a few at a time to dump them into his coffee. “Yeah, I’m the important one. Do I need to remind you that your lineage is as good as royalty in the volleyball world?” 

“No, I’m good; I get reminded of that every day of my life, thanks.” She mutters, staring at the obscene amount of sugar that her companion continues to dump into his drink. “I can’t believe you ordered and everything and I still didn’t notice you until now.” 

“Yeah, funny.” Sōsuke picks up a spoon and begins to stir his coffee, though his amicable expression does little to hide the small grimace of discomfort in his eyes as he looks at the contents of his mug. “For someone who nicknamed herself the ‘Ace of Managers’, you’ve been pretty lacking lately. I’m not exactly hard to spot, even if you _aren’t_ looking for me.”

Emiko crosses her arms, expression sour. “First of all, I’m not ‘lacking’. I’ve just been in a bit of a moral dilemma lately, and that’s using all my focus. Second of all, I wasn’t the one that gave myself that nickname. It was Oikawa Tōru; heard of him?”

“Oh, have I _heard_ of Oikawa Tōru? Absolutely. Am I interested in him? Afraid not.” 

“Is that because you hate Seijō?” 

“If I was doing my job based on a school bias, I’d only be picking from Karasuno.” Sosuke points out. He reluctantly brings his mug up to his lips and takes a sip, expression scrunched in displeasure. It makes the corner of Emiko’s mouth twitch upward. 

“And the pickings are quite slim there, if my research is correct.” Sōsuke glares at her from over the rim of his cup. 

“Don’t remind me. I’m almost afraid to ask their new coach if I can sit in on practice.” 

“Ukai Keishin’s his name, right? Graduated about eight years ago. Setter, but not a regular in his time. Barely under one hundred and eighty centimeters, and— if I had to guess— approximately seventy-one kilograms.”

Sōsuke sighs so hard that the surface of his coffee ripples. “Y’know, it’s a little creepy when you list off facts about strangers like that. There’s more to life than being a walking volleyball encyclopedia.”

“Hmph!” Emiko frowns. “I’ll have you know that I’ve gotten plenty of new hobbies since last year!”

“Seems to me that you haven’t.” Sōsuke points to the magazine lying on the table, the glossy cover shining in the low light. “Tell me, how many times have you read that issue from cover to cover since you got it?”

Emiko cringes. “Ah. Three?”

“Yeah?”

“Four?”

“Sure.” 

“Five times, alright?” She snaps. “And fine, maybe I _haven’t_ gotten any new hobbies beyond volleyball and manga. But school takes up all of my time!”

“Really? Because your mother told me otherwise…”

“I hate adults.” Emiko mutters. Sosuke leans back in his chair with a lopsided grin, stretching his lanky legs out just a bit. 

“Tell me about it. I hate _being_ one.” He pushes his nearly-full mug across the table with his index and middle finger; the contents threaten to spill out for a brief second. “The coffee, for one, is an issue.”

“Then don’t drink it!”

“Energy drinks aren’t really a viable option for me anymore, since I’m not doing anything that requires a lot of movement.” He taps his knee, which remains under the table, but Emiko’s expression still sobers up at the mention of it. A few seconds of silence settle between the two of them. 

“Speaking of… _that_ ,” Emiko clears her throat, “how was your appointment today? Any new exercises?”

“‘fraid not,” Sōsuke sighs, “your mom’s having me do the same thing as last time. She says it doesn’t appear that I’ve made much improvement since a few months ago.”

Emiko raises a brow. “You haven’t been working on it in your free time?”

“Even if I _had_ free time, I’d probably just spend it moping around.”

Emiko leans forward. “You and I both know that you need to be working on your knee, Sōsuke. You don’t want something like that to get worse later on down the line; soon enough you’ll be walking with a cane.”

Sōsuke shrugs in a way that’s supposed to be nonchalant but comes across as defeated. “What’s the point? Either way, I can never play again. That’s why I’m a coach now instead of on the court.”

“They’re letting you coach?”

“Yeah.” Sōsuke runs a hand through his hair, a similar color to the drink sitting before him. “Temporarily. Mostly out of pity. I think my friend was right the other day when he told me I’m hardly coach material.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“No point in ignoring the truth. At least the scouting gig is one I got of my own merit.”

“You’ve gotten everything of your own merit.”

“Yeah, sure. You know my entire business career is just being handed to me, right?” 

“That doesn’t mean you’ve worked any less harder for it.”

Sōsuke sighs once more. “You’re almost terrifyingly supportive, you know that?”

“Yeah. It’s why the coach picks me to do the pep talks and leaves all the scolding for himself during games.” Emiko points out, though the tone of her voice indicates that it isn’t the complete truth. After a moment of consideration, she opens the bag hanging off the corner of the back of her chair, slipping her magazine inside of it and pulling out a notebook instead. A few loose leaves of paper threaten to cascade out of it, but she pinches the covers tight between her fingers. 

“And all the data gathering, I see.” Sōsuke reaches across the table and takes the notebook from her hands gently. “How many players do you have in here now?” 

“One hundred and twenty-seven.” Emiko places her arms on the table so that she can rest her chin in her palm. “One hundred and four of which are active. Most players are from the top five prefectures of the last three years, which hasn’t changed much. All of Shiratorizawa’s players are listed in the front in order of who I believe to have the best statistics. The rest are organized by school, but that’s it. Their statistics are harder to gauge from only watching a few games with them, though most of the captains have information that’s anywhere from ninety to one-hundred percent accurate. Sorry in advance; a few of them I could only watch in videos.” 

Sōsuke raises his eyebrows, flipping slowly through the notebook. “You even drew portraits.” 

“Yeah, well.” She averts her gaze for a minute. “I got bored.”

“This is great, Emiko, but you know I only needed one set of stats from you.” Sōsuke points out. Emiko shrugs, drumming the fingers of her free hand on the table. 

“I know, but I thought you might be interested in seeing what the current wave of players is like. Pretty different from your day, unfortunately. I wouldn’t even place Karasuno anywhere near the top ten schools anymore.”

Sōsuke winces visibly. “Ouch.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the unfortunate truth. Unlike Shiratorizawa, Karasuno weakens.”

“I gathered as much.”

Something close to sympathy glimmers in Emiko’s eyes as she looks at Sōsuke flip through her journal. “Not for long though, I suppose. Can I see that?” 

Sōsuke nods and hands it back to her; she flicks through a couple of pages absentmindedly until she comes across one with a portrait with a rather grumpy looking boy.

“Kageyama Tobio. Toshi-chan insists that he’s not much of a threat, but I refuse to take my eyes off of him for a second. He’s a first-year regular.”

“I’ve heard the name, but not much else.” Sōsuke admits. He leans forward to inspect the page a little more; various notes of ‘previous schools attended’ and ‘known match outcomes’ are crammed all the way into the margins with the amount of information recorded alongside heights and weights. “Nice portrait, by the way. You’re quite the artist.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Emiko’s face flushes a little at the compliment. “He was Oikawa Tōru’s kōhai two years ago. He’s interesting. Especially when paired with…” she flips another page, “this one.”

“Hinata Shōyō.” Sōsuke’s eyebrows knit together slightly. “Y’know, he kinda looks like—”

“The Small Giant.” Emiko taps the bottom of the page with a single finger, not breaking her gaze. _Jersey Number: 10_ it reads. “I don’t know him— or anyone on that team— personally, but I’m starting to think that he’s pretty inspired by your former teammate, Sōsuke. I’ve never heard of someone jumping so high in my life.”

“I’d certainly _hope_ that he jumps high. Under one hundred sixty-three centimeters and they have him playing as a middle blocker?” He reads. 

“They’re pretty spread thin at the moment, I can imagine. They’re making due with what they have.”

“Either that, or their coach is a tactical genius.” Sōsuke muses. “If he’s anywhere near the level that Ikkei is, I’d venture to say that the choice is deliberate.”

Now it’s Emiko’s turn to look a little miffed. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Because you’re used to having olympic-level athletes around you. People that are _made_ for the sport and who fit their roles perfectly; Karasuno was always a team of ragtag guys. We were just better at synchronizing all of it back in my day.”

“ _You_ were better at synchronizing it, you mean.” Emiko says. “Karasuno truly lost their footing when you graduated. They have potential, but unless they come across a captain as good as you again, they’re not going to make it far.”

“I suppose we’ll just have to see about that when nationals roll around.” Sōsuke sounds a little humored, and Emiko ventures that it may be due in part to the sentimentality in his eyes. She nearly grins at him, but settles for a soft smile instead. 

“I suppose so.” She flips another page. “This is Nishinoya Yū. He’s their libero, and probably the single most talented person on the team— in my very humble opinion.”

“What’s up with his hair?”

“Ah, that. He’s hard to draw.” Emiko turns back to the near front of the notebook to the Shiratorizawa section. “Moving on from that; this is the player I wanted you to take a look at.” 

She carefully tears the page from the binding and slides it over to him. He raises a brow as he looks at the portrait.

“Can’t say I’m surprised with your choice. This is who you want me to offer the position to?”

“Sure is.” Emiko slips the journal back into her bag. “I think you’ll find him to be the best candidate for what you’re looking for.”

Sōsuke raises a skeptical brow at her. “You sound extremely positive that I’ll want to recruit him.”

“The University of Tokyo would be unstoppable with him on their volleyball team, believe me.” 

“I trust your judgement.” He folds the paper up and slips it into the breast pocket. “Though I’m wondering if your own personal bias is what made you choose him.”

“I only want what’s best for him, as I always do. You’re able to offer that. It’s simple.” 

“Yeah, alright.” Sōsuke makes to stand, and Emiko balks just a little. 

“Ugh. Now I feel even _worse_ for not noticing you at first. You’re dressed like a damn rodeo clown.” She snorts; the male shoots her a withering look. 

“What? This top is Armani!”

“Yeah, and it’s great; my question is why you would spend over fifty-six thousand yen on a shirt only to pair it with socks and sandals.”

“It’s practical _and_ comfortable!” 

“ _And_ an eyesore.” Emiko laughs as she too stands, the near-full cup of coffee forgotten on the table as she slings her back over her shoulder and makes towards the exit. She keeps pace with Sōsuke’s labored one, trying not to look out of the corner of her eyes as his knee threatens to buckle, kept in place by the brace wrapped around it. If he notices her looking, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Y’know,” he says once they leave the cafe and emerge into the crisp afternoon air, “you’ve really come a long way since last year.”

“You think so?” Emiko asks. She tilts her head up to grin at him. “Everyone around me thinks I’ve stayed the same.” 

“Then they’re idiots.” Sōsuke points out. “Everyone is changing all the time, whether or not we know it.” 

“You learn that in a philosophy course?” Gravel crunches under their feet as they make their way to the parking lot. A glossy black car awaits them, and Emiko slides into the passenger seat with a familiarity that comes from being in the spot many times before. Sōsuke takes a little longer to assume control of the driver’s side, careful of his knee as he sits.

“No, just through life. Which, _philosophically_ , you could say is the longest class of them all.”

Silence. Then:

“How in the hell do you have a girlfriend?” 

“Beats me.” Sōsuke snickers as he slides the keys into the ignition and turns the car on. The radio comes to life, a classic song from the eighties that makes Emiko laugh a little to herself. “Quite frankly, I don’t know why she didn’t hit the road after everything that happened.” 

“Because Hana isn’t like that! She’d never leave you over an injury!”

“Yeah, yeah. But I think that maybe she should have, sometimes. It’d make her life a hell of a lot easier.”

“Nothing worth having in life comes easy!”

“Ha! Now you sound like the philosopher here.” Sōsuke shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, either way. She’s stuck with me for life at this point.” 

“...Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’m planning on heading to the jeweler’s within the next few weeks, if that’s what you’re asking. Though I’m not quite sure if I’ll have time to between shifts at the repair shop and… other stuff, y’know?”

“I’d better be invited to the wedding!” Emiko huffs. Sōsuke laughs again. 

“Of course you will be, granted that she agrees to marry me in the first place.”

“Why wouldn’t she agree?”

“Well, my life is about to be in complete disarray within the next few years, for one.” Sōsuke reminds her. “Even if we do get engaged, it’ll be a while before I can even carve out time for my own damn wedding. And by that point, she might have dumped me.”

“Oh, stop thinking like that!” Emiko scolds. “You’re—”

She’s interrupted by the low buzz of a cell phone vibrating in the cupholder. Sōsuke doesn’t take his eyes off the road for a second, though his expression goes from playful to firm. 

Emiko blinks at him a few times, the rapid shift unnerving her. “Are you going to—”

“No, I’m not going to check who it is. I already know.” 

Realization dawns on his companion immediately. “Oh. Work things, right?”

“Yeah. Work things, _and_ a rant about how I’m the laziest son ever, _and_ a thousand questions about why I’m working a ‘menial job’ at a car repair shop when I’m destined for better things, _and_ a lecture on the fact that I need to ‘let go of high school already’.” 

Emiko clamps her mouth shut. The phone continues to vibrate for a few more moments until finally it goes to voicemail; Emiko shifts uncomfortably in her seat. 

“Sorry.” Sōsuke sighs. “It’s just a lot to deal with right now. I didn’t mean to get upset.”

“No, you’re fine!”

“It’s a shitty thing to do, though. You didn’t do anything wrong and I just snapped a tiny bit. I’d like to apologize for it.”

“God, you’re such a good person.” 

“And so are you!” Sōsuke grins at Emiko in a way that makes her falter; it’s disarming, almost, and as the last few weeks flash by in her mind, coupled with the thought of you, a cold stone of guilt drops in her stomach. 

“Ha. Yeah, I try to be.” She says. 

She finds herself relieved when he turns his attention back to the road; she’s not quite sure it’d be easy to meet his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: 56000 Yen is approximately 500 American dollars.


	12. In Which You Go Kinda Soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls in nearly 1 year later with a capri sun* what's crackin
> 
> anyway yeah it's been fucking forever since i updated this I'M SORRY i'm just so fucking lazy and i hope you guys are still interested in this fic and u haven't died waiting for the next chapter
> 
> this one goes out to tbae for being tbae and also being the only human on planet earth who finds shirabu cute 
> 
> xx sab
> 
> (ps i'm in the process of editing most of the other chapters so hopefully this fic doesn't stay being a garbage fire for too much longer)

Sometimes, when you think life can’t get any worse, it decides to surprise you. 

“Heya, [Surname]-san!” 

Nagasawa Hideo has the distinct honor of being the last person on earth that you want to see first thing in the morning, although you have to admit that your recent encounter with Ushijima has bolstered Emiko up on that list a considerable amount. 

“Get lost,” you sigh, shouldering past your classmate and into the bustling halls of Shiratorizawa. You’d barely slept last night, visions of your last test score dancing in your head to the soundtrack of Tendō teasing you about fucking Ushijima. You entertain the thought of anonymously tipping off the school to the fact that they should drug test their student athletes, but the thought of the entire boy’s volleyball club having a vendetta against you for the months to come quickly dispels that idea. 

Hideo is not as easily discouraged. “[Surname]-san, I tried to message you on Facebook—“

“I blocked you, dude. Can’t you take a hint already? It’s been two years.” You slide your shoes off and toss them into your locker, fishing out your much cleaner pair and pulling them on. 

“But this year we’d have a great chance at advancing to nationals if you’d just—”

“Nagasawa,” you sigh, adjusting your bag as you resist the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers, “I don’t have time for the Mathletes, and I likely never will. Try to recruit someone that actually gives a fuck about your club.” 

The captain crosses his arms and leans against the row of lockers in a way that you guess is supposed to exude alpha male-ness and assertion, but instead looks like exactly what it is: a scrawny blonde with a too-big uniform shirt trying to persuade you into joining his club for what feels like the hundredth time in two years. 

You’d been so caught up with Emiko and the team and Tsukishima lately that you’d almost forgotten about Hideo. Emiko had practically assaulted you with text messages all of last night and Kei had been the exact opposite; you’d wonder if you went too far by calling him a jackass in your last text had he not called you much worse in the past. 

You fish out your phone again while Hideo continues to talk. No new messages from Kei. Against your better judgement, you open up a blank message, but surprise yourself by not double texting Kei. Instead, you choose a different recipient.

**[Name] (6:04):** Hey. long time no text, huh? 

You send the text without thinking, then jam your phone back into your bag. Hideo continues to chatter. 

“—and if we had _you_ on the team, we’d totally—”

“Look,” you grit out, “as flattered as I am, you need to learn how to take ‘no’ for an answer. I don’t want to join your club, I will _never_ join your club—”

“Sheesh. Are you this mean to everyone you talk to, or just Wakkun and… whatever your name is?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of another voice behind you; after half a moment in which you ensure that your heart is still in working order, you spin around on your heel. 

“Uh,” you choke out. 

Tendō shoots you a smile that doesn’t quite sit right with you. “How did you not notice me? Aren’t you supposed to be super smart and observant?” 

“I’ve never claimed to be observant.” You raise a brow as nonchalantly as possible, though your pulse is still racing. 

“Ah, right. My bad.” 

“Can I help you with something?”

“Nah. You just looked a little pissy, thought I’d come over and see what’s going on.” 

“Thanks, but I can handle shit on my own.” You quip. Tendō looks much less affronted by your snappish words than someone like Ushijima would have been. It reminds you, in an almost painful way, of Kei. 

“Excuse me,” Hideo tries, “but I was talking to her—”

“And now you’re not. Goodbye.” Tendō gives Nagasawa the most sarcastic little wave that you’ve ever seen, gesturing with his head for you to follow him. You do, figuring it’s better than your other option. Hideo watches with a small scowl, but does nothing to deter you from leaving with the middle blocker. 

Tendō barely waits until you’re out of earshot to start talking. “What a weird guy, right? Looks like a stage five clinger.” 

“More like stage one hundred,” you snort, though you still side-eye Tendō suspiciously as you walk to your classroom. 

“Ugh. Clingers are the worst, aren’t they?” 

“Hypocritical of you to say. Isn’t Emiko clingy?” 

“Not with me, and it wounds my poor soul.” Tendō quips back; you’re pleasantly surprised that he doesn’t sound offended by your remark. 

“Maybe you dodged a bullet.”

Tendō pretends to think. “Maybe not, though. Have you seen her chest? Huge.” 

You laugh again, but this time you reign it in to sound like a cough. “Guess so.” 

A small wave of silence falls over the two of you as you walk. You realize that Tendō is taking you to the second-years hallway without much thought. 

“Is there a reason you pulled me aside?” 

“Huh? Oh, I told you,” he shrugs, “you looked mad. Didn’t want you to yell at him the same way you yelled at Wakkun.” 

You should have expected it, and yet you grit your teeth nonetheless. “Great. So let me guess, Ushijima told Emiko about that and she told you?” 

“Pre-cise-ly.” Tendō laughs, “stuff doesn’t stay quiet on the team for long. Especially when someone gives Wakkun a verbal ass-kicking; doesn’t happen often enough, I think.” 

You frown, “I wasn’t really that harsh on him. And aren’t you his friend?” 

“He’s a little wound up sometimes. It takes a little criticism to get him to relax and refocus. Like resetting a computer—”

“Ushijima isn’t a state-based machine. You can’t really fix an issue like that by ‘resetting’ him.” You say without much thought. To your shock, Tendō just rolls his eyes, sardonic grin growing. 

“Nerd. You’re class seven, right?” 

“You ask as if Emiko hasn’t told you that too.” 

“Whatever, I’m just trying to be polite. Heads up, though— if that guy out there keeps pestering you, let a guy on the team know. We’re pretty formidable.” 

You bite back a joke, thinking about the boy with the black bowl cut and how his arms look like they would snap from a single punch. “Yeah. Will do, I guess.”

It isn’t until Tendō leaves you standing awkwardly outside your door on the way to his own class that the strangeness of the entire encounter sets in. 

__

“It was so weird, Kenjirō. I swear I saw her in the mirror.” 

The setter scoffs. “Isn’t that just some stupid American legend?” 

“It isn’t! Bloody Mary is real, I swear—”

It’s a little bit warmer outside when you finally leave your classroom for lunch. You surreptitiously wipe a little bit of dried drool from your mouth, courtesy of your in-class nap, as you approach. 

You’d debated a little about this. You were still slightly angry with Emiko for spilling the beans about your personal life for the second time, but the idea of being alone again for your meals has left a sour taste in your mouth. Perhaps it was better to make sure you were accompanied by others rather than leaving yourself as an open target for Hideo’s recruiting. 

“[Surname]-san!” Emiko chirps when you arrive in your typical spot, bag in hand, “how are you—”

“Bloody Mary _is_ a stupid American myth. Shirabu’s right.” You cut her off immediately, raising a brow in a way that’s half between challenging and taunting. Emiko’s ears turn bright red at the realization that you’d heard her. 

“O-of course it is! I was just kidding before when I—”

“Oh, quit it. You’re the worst liar ever.”

Emiko blinks rapidly, a little taken aback by your quips. You settle down onto the grass, pulling out your bento. 

“Ah… [Surname]-san, is everything okay?” 

“No. I’m mad at you.”

“Eh!?” 

“Don’t play dumb! You know exactly why!” You scold, popping a clump of rice into your mouth. Emiko’s expression goes from scared to sheepish in an instant. She at least has the decency to keep from trying to look completely innocent. 

“I didn’t mean to tell Wakkun about your test score! It just slipped out!”

“In front of the whole team.” Shirabu clarifies for your sake. You hate the fact that Emiko’s mortified face amuses you more than it angers you. 

“Yeah?” 

 

“I _promise_ it was an accident, I’m usually _so_ good about keeping secrets—”

“God, you’re not even trying anymore.” Shirabu snorts, breaking apart his chopsticks and sharing a look with you. You hold back a short bout of laughter, thinking again about how Tendō had saved you this morning. Somehow the boys on the team had become very comfortable around you over the weekend; you’d question the strangeness of it all were it not for the treacherous feeling of warmth that buds in your stomach at the thought of having more friends. 

You fight the urge to check your phone only for a moment, but you cave at the sight of it nestled so serenely in the side of your bag. You flip it open.

**Tadashi (12:12):** Hey! Yeah, it’s been forever! How have you been? 

You almost sigh out of relief. You’d never been as close with Tadashi as you were with Kei, but he was easier to talk to by leaps and bounds.

**[Name] (12:13):** Pretty good!!

It only takes you a second to realize that he might see through your lie.

**[Name] (12:13):** Well, as good as I can get with all my schoolwork. I visited Kei recently, I heard you guys are on the volleyball team!

“Texting someone again, [Surname]-san?” Emiko bats her eyelashes at you. You roll your eyes and toss your phone down next to you. 

“Obviously. Are you trying to get back on my good side? Because it won’t work.”

“What? Why not?” Emiko guffaws. 

“Because,” you pick up more of your lunch, “I don’t really get embarrassed easily, but having people know about my test score made me come pretty damn close.” 

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about! It happens to all of us!”

“No, it actually doesn’t. Not to me, at least.” 

“Y’know,” Shirabu starts, “I know how [Surname]-san might forgive you.” 

You and Emiko quirk your brows simultaneously, both intrigued for different reasons. The guy is ballsy, you think, for acting like he knows anything about you. 

Emiko doesn’t reply verbally, but her inquisitive expression prompts the setter on. “Tell her about Valentine’s Day last year.” 

Emiko immediately goes a shade of pink that reminds you vaguely of the little candies Tsukishima used to constantly eat when you were five. “W-what? What does that have to do with—”

“Eye for an eye. Embarrassing fact for embarrassing fact.” 

You tilt your head. Huh. This guy seems to actually get you a little bit. You’re not sure how to feel about it. 

“Oh, I don’t know. That _really_ has nothing to do with the—”

“Emiko used to have a massive crush on one of the middle blockers. Kawanishi; you’ve met him.” Shirabu starts, turning his attention to you. His eyes are a nice shade of grey-brown, you realize with a bit of a start. 

“Yeah?” You spurn him on, mostly because Emiko’s incredulous sputtering from next to you makes you feel even more vindictive. 

“Like, I caught her writing their names under a love umbrella. That’s how bad she had it,” he says, mouth twitching upwards at the corner, “and she froze every time he came up to her at practice. I genuinely thought she would combust.”

“That’s enough, Kenjirō…!”

“And then what happened?” You lean in more for a dramatic effect, the spiteful part of you taking over a little too easily. 

“Well, she made him these chocolates for Valentines day, but they were horrible. Clumpy and gross-looking, and she didn’t have the time to buy him any nice chocolates because she put off making them until the last minute—”

“You’re supposed to make them with love!” She protests. Shirabu’s small smirk becomes more solid. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well anyway, she comes to school all ready to give them to him— it was a great wrapping job, Hashimoto-chan, but the product fell short— and he just flat-out refuses to accept them from her. Not even to be nice. That’s how horrible they were.”

You can’t help the short snort that you make. “No shit. Then what happened?” 

“Well, nobody else wanted them except—”

In one movement, Emiko grabs Shirabu’s chopsticks from his hand and throws them as far as she possibly can. A few grains of rice fall onto your head from the discarded utensils flying over it, and there’s a brief silence between you and the other two until—

You start laughing. And you can’t stop. 

You must look like a maniac, you think, laughing in a way that you haven’t laughed in months. Full-body, hiccup-inducing laugher pours from your mouth and you can’t even pause to try and rein it in, don’t even think about the fact that fat tears of mirth are streaking down your cheeks and your buzzing phone lays forgotten at your side. 

“You… you’re so fucking weird!” You manage between taking in rasping breaths, pointing at Emiko as steadily as you can, “who the hell just _does_ that? Why would you throw someone’s chopsticks?” 

Emiko stares at you for a moment longer before she starts giggling too. And like that, it’s like a cork in the neck of a bottle has become dislodged; you’re laughing together, the sound nearly drowning out the drone of the school bell and the rustling of leaves on the tree above you. 

“I-I don’t know! I just wanted him to shut up! I couldn’t think of anything else to do!” 

“You totally d-deserved it though!” You hiccup. 

And just like how you miss the bell, you also miss the somewhat incredulous look that Shirabu sends you. 

And you certainly miss the way his face goes a little pink at the sound of you laughing.


	13. In Which There's More Technical Bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w00t 2 updates to this story in 1 week.... look @ me go fam
> 
> anyways i forgot to post this earlier so now im posting it and i'm high as shit so that's cool 
> 
> ty to tabs and peachy for beta reading
> 
> ps emiko is an eldritch monster

“This is ridiculous.” You can barely hear Emiko over the coach’s whistle, but you hum in agreement anyway. 

“Yeah. Totally.” You sigh, absentmindedly scratching at your scalp with the capped end of your pen. The high, flourescent lighting of the gymnasium doesn’t give you any new perspective on the English worksheet clutched in your hand, but you hadn’t expected it to. Hamada-sensei’s lessons were starting to become even more relentless this week, leaving you even further in the dust; with the impending test retake this weekend, it was getting harder and harder for you to nail the basics while trying to keep up with more advanced topics. Harder still on an empty stomach— you’re starting to miss the short span of time when Emiko had to buy you meat buns. 

The manager gives you a short glance. “We’re most definitely not talking about the same thing.”

“We hardly ever are,” you murmur, bringing your pen away from your head to jot something down. She tuts at you but the sound is more affectionate than it is upset; she must still recognize that she’s on thin ice with you, despite the fact that she’d had you in stitches earlier in the day. 

“Tsutomu’s form is getting worse.”

“Is it?” You eliminate the fourth option from one of the multiple choice questions on the worksheet with a quick scribble of your pen. 

“Yeah,” you can almost hear the furrow in her brow rather than see it, “he’s not exceptionally great at blocking. He got a few calls for touching the net our past few games. I thought he said he’d work on it…”

She trails off and it’s only then that you look up from your sheet. The boys are scrimmaging again today across two smaller courts that Emiko had painstakingly set up with help from the coach; three-on-three matches with one team having a substitute. You follow her stare to the kid with the black bowl cut. Even with your limited expertise, you can tell that something about the way he’s moving is wrong. 

“What’s there to do, though? Just stand further back?” You surprise even yourself with the genuine question, but immediately chalk it up to your happier mood from lunch still lingering slightly. 

“No, then he risks accidentally using his body to allow the ball to fall onto his side of the court. He needs to not strike down,” she demonstrates with her arms quickly, the papers on her clipboard fluttering, “so much. His arms are probably a little longer than he thinks.” 

“How old is he again?” 

“Sixteen. First year. He had a big growth spurt within the last few months,” Emiko looks back down at something on her clipboard; you take a peak, startled to find that there’s a few pages of extremely comprehensive player statistics jotted down, “so I’m assuming he hasn’t quite grown into his body yet. But we can’t afford to have him blocking so poorly with the Interhighs coming up.” 

“Why not?” You snort, “aren’t you guys super strong? What’s there to be worried about?” 

Another shock: Emiko doesn’t immediately guffaw at your ignorance like she typically does. Instead, she bites at her lip. 

“Historically,” she starts, “we are the strongest team in the prefecture. But there’s been a few upsets recently among other teams. I’m worried that the boys aren’t taking other schools as seriously as they should.” 

Your interest, despite your better judgement, is piqued. “What other schools?” 

“Well, we have Seijō— as always. They had a pretty bad season start due to an injury, but they’re coming back with a vengeance.”

“Seijō? The school with the super ugly uniforms?” 

“Yeah. That’s the one. And then there’s— hang on…” 

Emiko puts her clipboard down on the bench and hoists her backpack up to unzip it. You watch in silence as she pulls out a notebook with a tattered cover, the spiral binding slightly warped from being jammed in with her textbooks. She flips it open until she comes to the page she wants. 

“I guess it’s about time I give you a small introduction to our opponents.”

“I guess,” you say, knowing that she’ll explain them all even if you don’t care enough to learn about them. 

“This is Oikawa Tōru. He’s a third year setter for Seijō. Wakatoshi finds him to be an excellent player, but I’m hesitant to say he’s our biggest threat at the moment.” She turns the page, “and this is Iwaizumi Hajime, their ace. He’s been friends with Oikawa for years and years.”

You scrutinize the miniature portraits next to their statistics. It’s impressive, to say the least, that Emiko knows all of these small details. In addition to height and weight there’s estimated speeds, game statistics, and even notes on information that seems a little too personal to be common knowledge. 

It unsettles you slightly. 

“They’ve been playing a little fast and loose with their comeback, which I guess is why Toshi-chan is a little concerned. Oikawa has learned how to utilize one of their more… _wild_ players, to put it one way.”

“I see,” you say, not really seeing at all, “so—”

“Have you heard of Date Tech?” She cuts you off. 

“Yeah. Little ways north of here, right?”

“Right.” Emiko flips to an entirely new section of her notebook. You look at the pages she passes, wondering how long it must have taken to amass such a database of players. Every page seems full, too, jammed with all information that she can find pertaining to each one. 

“Their players are massive. They call them ‘Date’s Iron Wall’, and their block rate surpasses ours by quite a bit.” She shows you a few illustrations; you don’t know if you’re more surprised by the heights listed or her artistic ability .

“How is it even possible to get past something like that?” You wonder aloud, picturing three of those players jumping in tandem. 

“It’s not easy, but we’ve done it enough to beat them these past few years. We’ve come close to losing to them too, though, so I wish the boys would take them a little more seriously.” 

“Huh.”

“But I think our biggest threat right now is _him_.” 

Emiko takes you to a page that doesn’t necessarily interest you at first. The boy doesn’t look to be any older than you, and his listed age confirms it. His brows are drawn slanted, eyes piercing—

“I haven’t seen him in person, yet, but I’d like to. My drawing is done mostly from videos, so it may not be entirely accurate.”

But now, you’re really not listening; under his estimated statistics, you see something that makes your breath catch in your throat for a beat. 

_School: Karasuno._

“He’s the newest setter for his school. He used to attend Kitagawa Daiichi with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, but his talent far surpasses Oikawa’s. It’s his cooperation that needs work.”

You keep staring at his face. First year. He must know Kei and Tadashi. 

“Karasuno hasn’t done well since two of their most valued players graduated. One was a boy called the Small Giant. The other was—”

“Can I see that for a second?” You blurt, gesturing to the notebook. Emiko’s eyebrows crease again, but she nods. 

“Sure. Here.” 

You take the notebook gently, as if it’s a relic that might fall apart in your hands if you aren’t extremely careful. Emiko’s handwriting is tiny and messy, but you don’t have much of an issue reading it. 

With a small glance at her, you turn the page. And then another. And another. 

Kei’s face stares back up at you, unimpressed and uninviting. You can tell immediately that she’s used one of his old school pictures as a reference when adding details; the thought unsettles you even more. 

“How do you get all this information?” You ask, trying to keep your tone as non-accusatory as possible. Everything listed for Kei is eerily correct, down to his height and shoe size. You’re even startled to see that Emiko has taken a guess at what prescription his glasses are. 

The worst part is, she’s right. 

“I spend about fifteen hours every weekend combing through recorded matches for player statistics if I can’t actually go watch their games in person,” Emiko supplies. 

“But some of this stuff,” you point to where she’s calculated his hand size, “you can’t see well in videos.” 

“I’m a volleyball savant.” 

You snort incredulously. “‘Savant’? Isn’t that a high title to be giving yourself?” 

You cast a glance at her expression. She’s completely serious. 

“Well it’s true. I’ve been around volleyball my entire life, [Surname]-san. I know this sport better than anyone; sometimes more than I’d like.”

“But this is just… high school volleyball.” You stammer out, a little off-put by the way her eyes have gone a little flat. 

“Maybe to you.” Is all she replies. You clear your throat. 

There’s a long pause, disrupted only by a shout of “chance ball!” by one of the boys. You look back down at the notebook, scrutinizing every detail she’s put down. Everything is correct, at least relatively; some of her estimates are off only by minute numbers. Some you have no idea. It’s strange for you to see your best friend condensed down to a single page, especially by someone that you know he’s never talked to in his life. You’d always been aware that Emiko was alert, was _analytical_ , but you’d been mistaken in thinking that she didn’t do much with it. 

“So if there’s all this information that you have here,” you say, “why isn’t Ushijima taking these other players more seriously like you think he should?” 

“Toshi-chan is a hard one to get to, sometimes.” Emiko gently takes the notebook from your hands and you let her, finding it to be somewhat repulsive to hold. “I know he respects my opinions, but sometimes he narrows in on a few players he comes across and doesn’t take into consideration entire other teams.” 

“So you do it for him.” 

“I do,” she confirms, sliding the notebook back into her bag, “but even statistics don’t speak to him at times. Sometimes, it just takes a loss for him to re-orient himself.”

“That doesn’t make much sense.” 

Emiko sucks on the inside of her cheek as she considers her next words. “Wakatoshi has always been the type of person that takes criticism well. Very well, actually. It keeps him on track and keeps him from getting too used to being on top. It keeps him working harder… but as he’s gotten older, he’s gotten less and less criticism. Now that he’s one of the best aces in the country, he’s gotten into the habit of winning. Almost too much.”

“...That makes even less sense.” 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is this: it’s easy to get comfortable at the top, and when you get comfortable, it’s easier for you to fall.” 

“I suppose so.” You say, not entirely convinced.

“Well, I mean… look at you, for example.” 

“ _Excuse_ me?” You snap, turning to face Emiko completely. You nearly drop your worksheet and pen in the process. 

“You didn’t study for your last English exam, did you?”

“No, but—”

“Same principle. You’re a smart person, [Surname]-san. You’ve been at the top— or near it— of our grade since last year; that much is common knowledge. It took failing an exam to remind you that it takes _work_ to stay where you are.”

You’re silent. 

“Answer this for me,” Emiko turns as well so that your eyes can meet, “are you going to do better on the retake?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“Do you get it, then? Wakatoshi only gets the whole picture when he’s fallen from the top— or comes close to it.” 

“And you think that’ll happen because he isn’t taking other teams into consideration?” 

Emiko swallows hard. 

“I’m afraid so.” 

Something in the back of your mind clicks. You don’t pay attention to it then, but perhaps you should have. 

It would have saved you a lot of trouble in the long run.


End file.
